Hymn of Two Souls
by isumi 'kivic
Summary: Unbeknownst to anyone, something had taken a residence inside Wolfram, and was gaining power. Enough to take over Wolfram's conscience, enough to cause disasters, and perhaps-kill the Maou. Shounen-ai, YuuriWolfram. Chapter 5: The Wolf and Raven.
1. A Beginning of an End

Title: Hymne of Two Souls.

Author: isumi'kivic'

Beta: HARPGO

Pairings: YuuriWolfram, mentions of ConradYozak.

Warnings: BL, yaoi, shounen-ai, whatever you want to call it. =]

Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou belongs to Takabayashi Tomo-sensei. I own none and this fic is not made for any profit.

A/N: Hello again! I can't help myself to start another fanfic when a plot-bunny hopped into my mind in the middle of the night, so here is the result. I hope this would be able to brighten your day a little bit. =3 Thank you, HARPGO, for all your help and amazing advices, and for sparing your time to beta this doomed fic of mine. XP

That aside, everyone, I hope you enjoy~

_A Kyou Kara Maou Fanfiction_

**Hymne of Two Souls**

_Chapter One: The Beginning of an End_

_The loud cries of a baby reverberated to the corner of the room—white, pale stone walls trapping the sound so it wouldn't escape outside. The night was unusually dark; the thick clouds covering the half-moon shining up in the sky while the night breeze had changed to the chilly night wind, an omen that it'd rain hard quite soon._

_Laid on the cold, hard stone floor, in the middle of a circle drawn with indecipherable symbols in it, was a wailing baby wrapped only in white, thin blanket. Its golden hair was spread out on the white blanket; tiny fists were swung in various ways as its limbs flailed. Its eyes were squeezed shut, and little drop of tears were falling off its eyelids. Two male figures clad in white robes stood by the door of the room; their faces completely obscured by the hood covering their heads, as they kept their eyes fixed on the little wailing mazoku on the floor._

"_Is it still __**him**__?"_

"_No. I do believe this one is my son."_

_Cautiously, one of the men edged closer to the center of the room, halting his steps in alarm whenever the infant's sobs were caught in his throat. As the baby continued to wail, however, the man slowly closed the distance—the other man followed him just a step behind—before finally kneeling on the infant's side. A small, affectionate smile played on the man's lips as he carefully brushed the arrays of golden locks crowning the infant's head. _

"_He's got Celi's eyes. It's such a vibrant color."_

"_Brother, are you sure—"_

"_Yes. This is my responsibility as the Maou's husband—and as a father. My son would not live a happy life if I let him grow under this circumstances, not to mention he would endanger the whole Shin Makoku—perhaps the world. We can't be selfish."_

"_But you will have to sacrifice half of your soul and your life! You'll die!"_

"_You are aware that I bring you here for a reason, aren't you, my dear younger brother?" The first man turned his head slightly to look up at the other man. "You will be the only living being who knows about this in a span of two months. I have modified this seal that I would be able to live for another two months, in which I will try to get myself an honorable death and make sure no one will be suspicious. No one is to know about this after I die except you. You will be holding a very important role, because there's always a possibility of the seal weakening, and __**he**__ could always take over my son's body."_

_The two of them fell silent as the baby's cries slowly subsided, enjoying the feeling of a hand running through his golden crown._

"_I'll leave my son in your care. Promise me you'll take care of him."_

"…_I will." The promise was spoken in a whisper, and yet the tone was resolute. Smiling almost solemnly, the first man looked down on the infant. It had stopped crying and was now sucking on its tiny fist, glancing up with tearful eyes. Two pairs of non-identical green eyes met—and the baby grinned._

"_You'll grow to be a fine man, my son." The hand petting the golden hair was pulled back, and the man bit his own thumb, drawing blood from it as he lowered his finger back onto his son's chest. Expertly, he drew the same exact circle as the on the floor there, and clasped his hands over the symbols._

"_Forgive me."_

_Then, the room was enveloped in a blinding light._

-----o0oYuuramo0o-----

He snuggled closer into the warmth of the figure in his arms, sighing contentedly. It was times like these that he would gladly admit to Shinou that he owed the sly spirit a lot of things. No, not about the being chosen as a Maou or his successful alliance with the human nations or having such wonderful and loyal people supporting him—merely for the fact that here, in his arms, a beautiful blond angel was sleeping peacefully.

Their naked bodies were covered with a huge blanket, with grand embroidery adorning its edges. The steady rise and fall of his husband's chest made him smile—he'd definitely wake Wolfram up if he were to move, even just an inch. The blond had always been a heavy sleeper, but if he slept in Yuuri's arms, any movement the Maou made could wake him up in an instant. And now, under the faint sunrays sneaking into the Royal Chamber through the curtains, the Prince Consort looked so perfect and so peaceful that not even the King could bring himself to wake the blond angel up.

_A wonderful moment._

Not for long, though. Several raps on the door were heard, followed by a cheerful "Heikaaa..! This humble servant of yours is coming to greet you this morning…!" that could only belong to Günter, and the figure in Yuuri's arms stirred.

Audibly, Yuuri sighed. If he didn't answer the Royal Advisor right now, Günter would, no doubt, burst into the chamber fretfully—as he had done on two separate occasions before—and it would result in a livid Wolfram and an embarrassed Günter running out of the Royal Chamber trying to hide his bleeding nose.

"I'm awake!" reluctantly, he called out. "Just give me a second to clean up in here!"

Silence, and then the sounds of Günter's steps going away drifted faintly into his ears. Yuuri sighed once again—he'd hoped to enjoy this peaceful morning a bit longer, but—

"Clean up? Just tell him you can't go out naked." The slightly irritated, sleep-hazed voice greeted his ears, pulling him back to reality. Looking down, Yuuri realized the angel in his arms was now awake, gazing at him sleepily with those brilliant green eyes that reminded him of the deepest bottom of the lake. Suppressing the urge to laugh, the Maou bent down slightly to steal a kiss. "Good morning. Did you hear Günter—?"

"Wimp. Of course I did. He's always so loud it's possible the maids in the kitchen might have heard him, too."

"Not a wimp..." an automatic counter slipped out of his mouth, and he grinned at that. "You're going to spend the day with your troops?"

Wolfram snorted. "I'm a Prince Consort before I'm a commander now. I'll be helping you with the paperwork first." He paused, before adding, "And maybe with the dance lesson. There's no way I'd let Günter teach you something I'm pretty good at."

Yuuri smiled in amusement noting the possessive tone, but then blinked in confusion. "Wait. Dance lesson?"

An incredulous 'I-knew-you'd-forget' stare was directed at him. "The ball is tomorrow."

"Say what?!" almost horrified, Yuuri abruptly sat up. "But—but wait, no, that can't be! I mean, Celi-sama had just informed everyone about it yesterday!"

Wolfram shrugged. "Hahaue is that fast when it comes to organizing parties. Especially partied like this." He peered at Yuuri tentatively, and said, "You know, if you don't hurry up, Günter will come back pretty soon."

Nodding—still half-amazed at Cecilie's unbelievable party-organizing speed—Yuuri absently grabbed his black night robe and got his things.

Wolfram was stretching languidly like a cat when the Maou was about to open the door, so he turned towards the blond expectantly. "Aren't you coming?"

"In a second. Go ahead."

Again, Yuuri nodded. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway—but the call halted his movements—"Yuuri?"

Frowning, Yuuri wondered if that was a tentative tone he'd heard in Wolfram's voice. He turned a little, blinking in confusion. He hadn't done anything wrong this morning, had he? It was only ten minutes since he woke up!

Emerald eyes stared at him, and a shade of pink adorned Wolfram's cheeks as he said deliberately, clearly, "I love you."

Yuuri could feel heat rushing up his cheeks, and he laughed nervously. No matter what people think about the marital relationship of the Maou and the Prince Consort, no matter the rumors said how intense the love between them, said Maou and Prince Consort actually rarely said the three sacred words out loud to each other. Now that he thought about it, Yuuri couldn't remember any time he said those words to Wolfram. It was just too embarrassing. He was just—not ready yet.

So he flashed a wide, boyish grin instead at the blond, and replied with an "I know," before closing the door behind him.

Wolfram stared at the huge door blankly.

-----o0oYuuRamo0o-----

The party was not meant for Cecilie.

It wasn't for Yuuri or Wolfram, of course, because they were now married, unlike three months ago—even though that fact never stopped the single, noble girls from trying to get the young Maou's attention in hopes of being chosen as concubines. The party was definitely not for Greta, because she was only ten and while she understood quite clearly the concept of courting, thanks to Anissina, her adoptive parents absolutely refused to let her be courted yet. Not for Conrad either, because Cecilie seemed to know that her second son had something complicated going on with a certain orange-haired spy. It was a secret only a handful of people knew, by the way.

The party was for Gwendal.

The stoic man had promptly refused the very idea, of course, but Cecilie had cleverly exclaimed, "Look at those wrinkles, Gwen! You need a lover to caress them away with a loving touch!" And of course, all Gwendal could do was glare—almost helplessly—while Conrad felt his smile itched to break into the widest grin he'd ever had, and both Yuuri and Wolfram could only hide behind his back, barely suppressing boyish laughter and not-so-subtle snickers.

That was yesterday. And the ball would be tomorrow.

Today, the nobles invited to the party started to arrive, quickly filling Blood Pledge Castle with new faces with various expressions—hopeful, expectant, haughty, friendly. For the sake of politics, Gwendal had decided to invite representatives from the human countries that were allies with Shin Makoku, although Cecilie had muttered something about Gwendal wanting to change the ball into an informal political conference in objection. It was precisely why Yuuri was not surprised to see the King of Shou Shimaron stepping down from his golden carriage, jumping lightly onto the ground with his white robes fluttering gracefully behind him.

"Sara!" The Maou wasted no time in rushing out, grinning widely to greet the ruler of Shou Shimaron. "It's been some time! You're quite early—woah!"

He couldn't quite finish his greetings for Sara had quickly launched himself to hug him tight, a "Yuuri!" was happily ringing from his mouth. "It's been too long! I'm glad to see you again!"

Grinning, Yuuri patted the long-haired boy on the back warmly. "Ahahaha. Yeah, the last time you came was for my wedding, right?"

"Hmm..." Sara hummed a little, before drawing back and lowering his eyes in a somewhat sad expression. "Yes. What a pity—I was hoping I could be the lucky one, but it seems I couldn't win from Lord von Bielefeld, could I?"

"Aaahh.." Yuuri automatically scratched his head, a shade of red quickly spreading on his face, a sign of him feeling awkward. "Um. You know—"

"That was a joke," Sara smiled up, beaming brightly. "You haven't changed at all, still easily flustered, aren't you?" He let out a ringing laugh, "That's why it's always fun to tease Yuuri! Now, shouldn't you let me see your husband? I think I'd like to talk to him—I didn't get to congratulate him after the wedding since I had to return so quickly to my country, remember?"

A pair of slender arms sneaked to grab his left arm, and Yuuri just had to blush. Sara was pretty, he himself had to admit that, and it was just logical for any boy to blush when a pretty person flirt with them. Oh, yes, Saralegi flirted with him all the time, but he knew better than to take it seriously. The blond was doing it only for fun; or so he admitted to Yuuri months ago.

But Yuuri forgot that the people who saw them might not think the same.

-----o0oYuuramo0o-----

Wolfram watched from the side of the piano where Günter played; green eyes following the graceful movements on the dance floor in irritation. The melody slowly drifted and filled the room with a serene atmosphere, and to him, it seemed like the couple dancing on the dance floor was in their own world.

The thought flared something hot within him.

In the middle of the room, following the melody played on the piano, Sara and Yuuri danced gracefully, moving in time with the taps of Günter's fingers on the piano. The Maou was leading Sara; none of his usual clumsy movements were made as they stepped together—left, right, left, left, right—one of Yuuri's hand resting comfortably on Sara's waist as Sara looked up, smiling brightly.

He didn't like that sight. Not at all. Yuuri was his husband; Sara didn't have the right to just waltz in and exclaim about how much he wanted to dance privately with Yuuri—because stupid Yuuri was so dense he'd never realize an advance even when it was tossed out right into his face.

Yes, he was jealous. And yet—

_You think they look good together, don't you?_

Wolfram blinked, startled at the echo in his head. What was that? Distracted from his jealousy and anger, he concentrated a little, but there was no trace of the previous echo in his mind. Was it only his imagination?

The melody's final crescendo brought him back to reality, and he saw the dancing couple make their final swirl—and the melody slowed up as their dance came to an end. And then Günter was clapping, seemingly in tears as he said, "Wonderful! It was a very beautiful dance, Heika! You have made me so proud of you! What a sight you two have been on the dance floor!"

Wolfram rolled his eyes, thinning his lips in anger.

_See? Even Günter thinks they look good together_.

Inaudibly, the Prince Consort gasped—his hand flew to his head. Confused, he tried to concentrate again. No way. That was definitely not his imagination. What. The hell. Was that?

A faint chuckle echoed, followed by a soft _You can't deny it_.

His eyes widened.

"Wolf?" A tap on his shoulder snapped him out of the trance, and he actually jumped in surprise before taking a hurried step back and looked up—only to meet Yuuri's confused onyx eyes staring at him. The Maou blinked several times; his hand still waving in the air, almost like trying to reach Wolfram—except Wolfram had recoiled. The Consort gulped, hard, before allowing himself to move forward.

He took Yuuri's hand in his.

"Sorry, I was—"

"Is something wrong?" always, always concerned. Stupid wimp. Wolfram rolled his eyes, and slowly shook his head. A small, relieved smile was granted to him for that, and Wolfram sighed, allowing a little smile to spread on his face as a reply. Yes, nothing was wrong. He might be a bit too tired after training his troops and doing all the paperwork while Yuuri had to greet the nobles who had come to stay.

"Yuuri!" another excited exclamation came from Sara's direction—the bespectacled King was rushing towards the huge window facing the direction of the flower garden. "Those flowers! I haven't seen them before—they look very magnificent…"

"What flowers?" both Wolfram and Yuuri moved closer to the window, peering at Cecilie's flower garden. The spread of blue that belonged to Conrad's Stand upon Earth, the violet layers of Secret Gwendal, the red color blanket of Celi's Red Sigh, the yellow stretches of Beautiful Wolfram—those were quite usual. The unusual flower Sara was pointing at was another kind of yellow flower, with five or six petals mostly. Yuuri would confidently say that it was a sunflower; except a sunflower would be much bigger and taller.

"It's called Yuuri's Naiveté." Wolfram answered. "It is a new hybrid from Cavalcade that Hristo Cruyff-san brought here months ago, and Hahaue named it after Yuuri."

"It's beautiful, and definitely an eye-captor." Sara let out the sentence as a breath, before turning to Yuuri and smiled his blinding smile. "Yuuri-Heika, I'd appreciate me if you show them to me… perhaps later, if you don't mind?"

"Actually," Yuuri grinned, albeit a bit sheepishly—he could sense the suppressed dark aura emanating from Wolfram, and he knew he'd have to make it up to his husband later on. "Gwendal might need me later—why don't we just go now?"

"That's great!" Sara beamed, and his arms found their way on Yuuri's left arm again, pulling the Maou out of the ballroom in an instant. Günter followed with a cry of "But Heika, we do have lessons after this…!" leaving Wolfram standing still by the window, blinking owlishly.

Well, he didn't expect Sara to move that fast—

—_he might take Yuuri away from you._

A biting pain suddenly seared through his head, and Wolfram gasped—not quite in pain, more in shock—but the pain was gone in a flash, leaving him wondering if it had only been his imagination. But it was the fourth time he heard the voice; inside his own head, to be exact, and he had to admit he was a little frightened. The last time he heard thoughts that weren't his own in his head was when Shinou possessed him—but, now, he'd recognize Shinou's voice anywhere. This voice was different… it even sounded more like his own. What was—

"I was just thinking that Saralegi-Heika looks good with Yuuri-Heika. Then again, he looks amazing with anyone who is also a beauty."

"Now, Doria, don't say that! Saralegi-Heika could never outperform Wolfram-sama…"

"But you have to admit he's been acting cute and flirty towards Yuuri-Heika. Oh, Shinou, forgive me, but I have to say the two of them make a cute sight!"

"Elle, you saw them dancing just a moment ago, right? How was it?"

"Ah, I think Saralegi-Heika would be a potential love-rival for Wolfram-sama, seeing how he so casually flirts with Yuuri-Heika, and Yuuri-Heika seems to allow him, too. I haven't seen him reject Saralegi-Heika's advances—should we open a bet?"

"Fantastic! Finally we'll get to see some possibility of drama going around again."

The casual chattering—gossiping—slowly faded away as the oblivious maids trudged down and passed the window he was standing by without so much as a glance—proof that they didn't notice him standing there. Wolfram snorted softly—the maids always gossiped. He knew better than to listen to them, although he had to admit, he'd talk over about everything with Yuuri tonight. About Saralegi and his advances, about how Yuuri was so dense that he—

_He let him flirt. Maybe he does like it when it's Sara who flirts with him, not you._

Wolfram stiffened. His eyebrows knitted, and actually heard the voice chuckle this time, and it echoed, sending pulses of pain into his head and rubbed that fact in:

_He's never said "I-love-you" to you, has he?_

His back hit the wall, and green eyes widened—so wide Wolfram was amazed his eyes didn't fall out of their sockets—and muttered, almost brokenly, "Shut up, shut up, shut up. Whatever you are—whoever you are—shut up…"

_It's all his fault for being a wimp. For being so dense. His fault for screwing you out at night and acts all jolly and too friendly with everyone the next day._

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up—"

_He's using you. You're married and you never get a single "I-love-you."_

"No, no, no, it's not—it doesn't matter—shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Another echoing, mocking laughter, and it stopped.

Wolfram let his body slide down the wall. Arms wrapped around his knees, he took a deep, shuddering breath.

Something was wrong.

He needed to tell someone.

-----o0oYuuramo0o------

A/N: Yuuri's Naiveté is the flower that appears in Season 3—the one that looks like a tiny sunflower. I completely made up its origin, however, but if anyone knows where it comes from, tell me and I'd change it. =D

Reviews would be very much appreciated. Constructive criticisms are loved, and flames would be ignored, thank you very much.

Regards,

-isumi'kivic' and Ilde-


	2. Something that Lurks Inside

Title: Hymne of Two Souls.

Author: isumi'kivic'

Beta: HARPGO

Pairings: YuuriWolfram, mentions of ConradYozak.

Warnings and Disclaimer: See previous chapter. =D

A/N: Hello again! My friend told me that this fic would scare the readers away since I mentioned Sara since the very beginning. I really shouldn't say this, but rest assured, my soul is sold to Yuuram, and I threw in Sara because I need someone to make Wolfram jealous, that's all. :P So yes, in the end Yuuram would prevails over all. XD

I wrote this because I'm kind of tired of writing and seeing Wolfram chasing Yuuri all the time, so I figured why not let Yuuri chase Wolfram instead? XD Yuuri does love Wolfram here (and I believe he also does in the series actually, that dense stone), and I hope I can convey that well to you. =]

A mountain of thanks to HARPGO for all the troubles beta-ing this doomed fic of mine. I'm out of words to express how thankful I am to have you as a beta. =D Also thank you, so much, for everyone who reviewed the previous chapter—it really meant a lot. –sends out chocolates to every reviewers-

That aside, please enjoy. I'm sorry if you find this a bit too fast—I'm not quite in the best time of my life while writing this, haha. Do review though, it'll brighten my day. =D

_A Kyou Kara Maou Fanfiction_

**Hymne of Two Souls**

_Chapter Two: Something that Lurks Inside_

Yuuri was married—he understood that.

It was just that he couldn't stop flirting with the young Maou.

Sara liked Yuuri—no doubt about that. But love was a strong, deep word. For him, it had always been a strange and difficult feeling, and Sara was not at all certain if he was in love with the Maou or not. Not that he wanted to find out about that. Even if he really did fall for Yuuri, he was beyond sure that the soukoku would not be there to catch him. He had always been a keen observant, Sara had, and he knew better than most people might think. He knew that Yuuri loved his Consort too much—perhaps even more than he himself realized.

Perhaps he was jealous. Perhaps he really did enjoy the couple's reaction upon his shameless flirting—or Yuuri's helplessness at denying his advances; even at the cost of his husband's fury. Perhaps he enjoyed the brief attention Yuuri gave him when he flirted, or simply found Wolfram's possessiveness amusing. Whatever the reason was, Sara couldn't stop flirting with Yuuri. There was no harm done anyway, right? Even Princess Greta knew that his playful advances were never serious.

He simply couldn't stop.

-----o0o-----

_He's trying to keep your husband for himself._

"No." The Consort murmured under his breath, trying to make himself sound certain, to focus and drown the incessant voice in his head. This voice—whatever it was, had been nagging and infuriating him endlessly since yesterday. "No, he can't help it. It's his duty as a Maou, accompanying such guests and—it's for the sake of Shin Makoku and the alliance—"

_Yeah, very convincing. That boy is clinging, and your husband is letting him. He even laughs and blushes. Blushes. Did he ever blush at you other than from embarrassment or shame?_

"Shut up. What—who are you?"

_I am you._

"No, you're not. Shut up, shut up, shut up."

The glass of wine in his hand shook, and Wolfram quickly raised the brim of the glass onto his lips, and downed the drink in one big gulp. Brilliant emerald eyes swept the whole ballroom hotly, taking in the sight of Yuuri standing far on the other side of the room. Giggling, young noble females crowded him, while the King of Shou Shimaron stood by the Maou's side a tad bit too close for Wolfram's liking, and smiling secretively at the girls. Conrad stood silently slightly behind Yuuri as usual, keeping a smile intact as the females stole quick, admiring glances at him, or directing their advances at him sometimes.

Wine. He needed more wine.

With an inaudible sigh, he smoothed down the imaginary wrinkles on his blue suit. It was ordered specially by his Mother for the ball—made from the finest silk and was adorned with a touch of black embroidery on the right side of the chest. A black ribbon circled his neck, tied neatly on his nape—a sign that he was his King's and his King's only. There were small touches of the dark color on his arms, and lining the hem of his tight blue pants, forming an intricate design.

He'd denied some of the noble females and males the pleasure for some private talks already, and the dance hadn't even begun. If Yuuri didn't get back here once the music started, Wolfram swore he'd take one or two girls dancing—if only for the sake of making Yuuri jealous. Or not. Perhaps?

No, he was not a cheap cheater like Yuuri. His lips curved into an unpleasant frown at last, letting down the indifferent mask he'd put on after Sara tugged Yuuri away from him and Yuuri gave him an apologetic gaze. Well, at least the wimp had the sense to regret what he was doing, even if it was probably because of the possibility of Wolfram setting his ass on fire later on.

"If you're so jealous, you should just march over there and take Heika away for a dance. He wouldn't mind."

"So you're here." Wolfram answered quietly, not even bothering to turn his head to the source of the voice. "I was wondering what the hell you're doing, letting so many girls coming so close to Conrad."

Behind him, clad in white, grand robes with the color green lining the edge, was Yozak. Gwendal had specifically ordered him to go to the ball in disguise as one of the nobles—there were still a few ambassadors from human countries that they couldn't completely trust yet.

The older man grinned, shaking his own glass of wine playfully. "I see you are in a bad mood, Your Majesty." His eyes shone with mirth.

_He's making fun of you._

_He's not, so shut up!_ Wolfram inwardly snapped at the whatever-it-was-in-his-head that was now chuckling mockingly. Taking another glass of wine when Doria sauntered past with a tray of glasses half-filled with wine balanced perfectly on her hand, Wolfram took a step closer to Yozak, so that no one else would hear their conversation. Again, he swirled the glass to watch the pearly liquid dance inside before downing it in one gulp. His throat burned.

"You shouldn't drink too much. Heika doesn't like it when you're drunk, does he?"

"Speak for yourself." Wolfram snorted. People always thought that he'd do anything to make sure Yuuri wouldn't slip out of his hands, didn't they? Not exactly wrong, but that didn't mean he had to give up everything he liked and Yuuri didn't. Nonetheless, the blond refrained from taking another glass of wine. Instead, he leaned back slightly towards Yozak, and murmured, "Aren't you going to sweep Conrad away?"

"Later, maybe. What about you, planning to have another elopement tonight?"

_Even he thinks you're desperate. The wimp's fault, that is._

Ignoring the echo in his head, Wolfram chose to look at where his husband was—now talking to Stoffel, and Sara was still there by his side, still with his secretive smile. Wolfram narrowed his eyes—it'd be improper for the Maou to leave the Prince Consort alone for a long time to be with someone else. He had to be on Yuuri's side now, or unpleasant rumors would start. That wimp would never understand the power those rumors had.

"I don't need to. We're married, in case you haven't noticed. Oh, wait, you were absent at our wedding. I guess you don't know, then." An indignant, almost sarcastic huff slipped off his mouth. He saw Yozak rolling his eyes by the corner of his eyes, and continued, "I don't see why you can't approach Conrad and make everything clear. It's basically a public secret by now—your relationship with him, I mean. Go make it official, why don't you? No one would mind. I'll even give you my blessing now."

"Ah." There was a wistful tone in Yozak's voice but Wolfram couldn't tear his eyes away as Sara took Yuuri's hand and proceeded to pull him to the center of the ballroom as the music started up. The first dance.

"Conrad wouldn't want to."

"You're kidding me." He didn't know where that statement was directed at—Yozak's ridiculous remark of Conrad, or his disbelief of seeing his husband let someone else to the first dance with him tonight.

_See, he moves fast. Or maybe it's just that the wimp never did love you._

_Shut up,_ Wolfram told the voice, but his whole body—existence, perhaps—shook when the two figured started to move gracefully on the dance floor; the rhythm of the orchestra guided their movements. The first dance. The dance that the Maou should do with his Consort, not his ally, however close they might be.

_So you admit that they're close._

_Shut up!_

But the order was weak—too weak against the mocking laugh that reverberated through his whole being. Yozak's concerned voice barely registered in his mind, Wolfram promptly spun around and strode out of the ballroom with all the dignity he still had left.

-----o0o-----

"Hey, Sara—"

"Come on, Yuuri, humor me!" Came again the tug on his sleeve, this time stronger, leading him to the center of the ballroom. Unconsciously, a pair of onyx eyes flickered to where a certain blond stood on the other side of the ballroom, seeking for help. Their distance was quite far, though—Yuuri couldn't see Wolfram's expression from where he was standing. And Sara was talking again. "It's been awhile since I got to play with you and your husband. I'd like to see him throwing fits right now!"

Yuuri rolled his eyes—Sara and his weird tendencies. "Yeah, you won't be the one Wolfram would set fire on!" He protested; because really, even after their wedding, he was still rather scared of his husband's ability to burn anything to crisp. Sara chuckled cheekily at that, and in one swift motion, he'd had his left arm wound around Yuuri's waist and one other sneaking up on his shoulder.

"It'd be fun to see how long Wolfram could hold on his fury," a soft grin appeared, and as the music started, Sara led them to sway. Right, left, right—and Yuuri sighed exasperatedly, for a second wondering who was more stubborn actually; his husband or the King of Shou Shimaron.

They swirled once—absently, Yuuri noticed how they drew everyone's attention almost immediately. He couldn't blame them; Sara was that pretty, anyway. But it was somewhat uncomfortable, to dance with Sara in front of the guests, and something in him was rumbling, telling him to let go and fetch his husband instead because it was the first dance, after all—

That was when he caught Conrad's worried gaze, and he froze.

The first dance.

Shinou, he was so stupid!

Head quickly snapping towards where Wolfram was standing before, Yuuri let out a small gasp when his eyes couldn't find his Consort. Reflexively, he let go of Sara and turn around—just in time to see a familiar back slipping out of the closing grand door. For a second, he stared blankly at the now closed door, and heard Sara's murmur.

"Do you think I might've gone too far?"

He wanted to say "no," because he understood that everything Sara did was a joke, something he found to be fun, that it was his fault because he forgot the importance of the first dance of the ball in the midst of the merry-making of the evening, that he should've caught Conrad's warning gaze even before Sara pulled him to the dance floor—but it all escaped his mind as the only thing registered in was—

_I hurt him again._

And then he was running across the room, towards the door, ignoring Conrad and Günter's call, leaving Sara by himself even though the music was still playing. There were sounds of surprised murmurs and wonders as he opened the door and stepped out; and he did realize that he was not supposed to do this, but it all could wait. He let the door close with a soft thud behind him, before sprinting down the hallway towards the Royal Chamber.

Wolfram, on the other hand, would not wait.

-----o0oYuuRamo0o-----

"I'm truly sorry for that, Saralegui-Heika."

She had, indeed, grown taller and a bit too mature for a twelve-year-old human. Of course, Sara was still a good head taller than she was, but it wasn't a problem at all, since she was the Princess. And so she pasted on her cutest smile as she looked up, trying her best to appear hopeful. "You wouldn't mind, would you, to continue the previous dance with me?"

Anissina said she would be an amazing woman, and had already taught her ways of making men (and boys, of course, since she was not at all interested in people who were Stoffel's age, for example) kneel before her. Even the smartest women had to know how to conquer the men, even more so because she was a princess who was ready to step into the adolescent stage. All that and Günter's lesson had changed her from a happily-running-and-greeting-everyone girl into this—this girl.

This girl who was now standing before the King of Shou Shimaron, courteous and knew how to handle a situation like a Princess should, albeit still looking a bit too childish for the elegance of a woman she wanted to be.

She knew she did well, though, because Sara smiled gratefully at her and took her hand, leading the dance. In no time, all eyes were drawn again to the center of the ballroom, only now it was a different couple dancing. She caught the relieved gaze that belonged to Günter, Gwendal's careful look, and Conrad's gentle smile. But most of all, her heart swelled at the proud gaze Anissina held at her, with a wide satisfied smile that seemed to say, "That's my girl!"

She couldn't wait for the dance to end, though. It was awkward to act all elegant like this. Greta was still Greta, who loved to play tag on the garden and slipped into bed between her adoptive parents at night. Still the little princess who enjoyed teasing her adoptive parents and jumping onto Yuuri's lap whenever possible, or asking Wofram to read a bedtime story. She was still Greta, and she was worried for the Royal Couple.

-----o0o-----

Black, white, and red.

He wondered why everything changed colors suddenly. Even the water on the pond looked red, though he was sure it was water, not blood, because blood should be thicker and somewhat sticky. Was it his eyes? They stung, hot, but the tears he knew hiding there wouldn't come out for some reason. And he was humming—a strange song he'd never heard before, but he could care less since it calmed his heart and eased the pain a little.

Everything almost seemed surreal. Except it wasn't, because the water in his cupped hands felt cold. But his whole body was cold, or perhaps, it was his whole existence. Either way, it didn't make any difference, so why should he think about it?

Sometimes life could be so exhausting. Detachment felt so much better.

"Wolfram?"

There were footsteps coming, following the familiar voice. They came closer, and he wanted to turn around, to say hurtful things that he never meant just so Yuuri could understand, or at least he would have an idea of how much it hurt when it was never clear if they went on with the wedding because they loved each other or merely because they went with the flow. Whether there was a special place he held in the soukoku's heart or there wasn't.

He wasn't angry. Not at all. It just hurt a lot and he wanted to hide from the rest of the world—if only for a short time.

But he didn't turn around, no matter how much he wanted to—and though it puzzled him, the words were ripped out of his throat in a furious tone, "Leave me alone."

"Wolf, it wasn't—"

It hung in the air—Yuuri's words, and he knew perfectly Yuuri hadn't had the slightest idea of what to say. It held an apologetic tone, yes, but it wasn't enough, because the pain in his chest was still throbbing slowly, excruciatingly, almost enough to bring tears into his eyes, but not quite. He'd rather have his chest ripped open by a sword, though. He parted his hands, letting the red water fall back to where it belonged. The grass around his feet was black, not dark green, even under the garden dim lights, and he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"You're going to tell me it was a joke?" Bitter. Because that was what Yuuri would always tell him whenever Wolfram had a fit over Sara's shameless advances. "It was the first dance. I told you—"

"—it's important, I know. I'm—"

"You're not sorry."

"Wolf—"

"Quiet."

A shocked gasp came from the soukoku at that; and he would've gasped himself because he didn't mean it—the words came out as an order. But his body was slowly turning around, even without him wanting it to, and for a second, confusion and fear overruled his emotion. His eyes caught Yuuri's dark, surprised ones, and absently he noted that the castle wall had turned red, with streaks of black on the pillars.

_What is this…?_

The silence between them was thick and heavy. He wanted to gulp down the fear clinging on the back of his throat, trying to convince himself that he was just stressed out and needed to rest, but he couldn't. He wanted to blink, so that the colors would revert back to their usual appearance, but he couldn't. He tried lifting his hand to rub his eyes—but his muscles seemed to refuse his command—

"You shouldn't have tied our bonds at all. It's troublesome."

Yuuri's eyes widened. Clearly, he wasn't expecting the hurtful words—and Wolfram suddenly understood, with fear rising up his throat so thick he thought he would choke: this—whatever this was—was not him. Not him. Whatever—whoever—made those words out of his mouth, it wasn't him. It was a lie. No matter how painful it was, he never regretted the accidental engagement, not in the slightest. But Yuuri—Yuuri didn't know. Yuuri didn't know it wasn't him who said that, and—

"You are troublesome."

And something in his chest was screaming, growling in fury and fear, for he didn't know what was happening or what this was that controlled him, and Yuuri could—this thing could be dangerous and—

"Wolfram…?"

And all he could do was watch, as his right hand raised up against his will; a small fire ball appearing on his palm, flickering almost gently—and Yuuri's face relaxed a little, perhaps thinking that he was only joking, but he knew the fire was not gentle at all, because it grew hotter in his palm, and even though he could feel it, he couldn't stop it—

_Run!_ he wanted to scream—struggled to scream, to warn his King that he was not himself, that he didn't know what this thing was, but his body lurched forward; left hand took Yuuri by his neck and curled his fingers on it, pressing with rage, pushing him down onto the ground and pinning him with a strength he never knew he possessed. A strangled yelp was ripped out of the soukoku's throat, and Wolfram screamed, shouted, screeched—_stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it__!_—and struggled to kick, to blink, to clear away the nightmare that colored in black, white, and red, to let go of Yuuri's throat, to block away the wheeze uttering his name painfully—to do _anything_, but none of them came out.

The fire ball in his right hand was hurled down, right towards Yuuri's chest, as the soukoku's eyes widened in absolute fear, and Wolfram shrieked soundlessly—at the Maou to come out, come out and save Yuuri _damn it_, at his brothers to come, come and stop him, please, and stop it stop it stop it!

But then everything was burning, burning hot, the grass, the flowers, Yuuri—and Yuuri was screaming in pain, and everything was red, blazing, scorching hot—and he was laughing—laughing like a mad man, victorious and satisfied—

And then something struck him from behind, powerful and fierce, forcing the air out of his lungs and throwing him away from his King, flinging him through the burning fire and into a pillar.

Something red and sticky trailed down his head. Blood, he knew, and Wolfram let out a heavy cough before everything blacked out.

-----o0oYuuRamo0o------

A/N: Next chapter should be out once I'm done with my mid-test and finishing the next chapter of Pride and Prejudice. =] Or maybe faster, if the bunny in my head keeps jumping. :P Review and constructive criticisms are much love, and I don't pay any attention to flames. I use flames to burn trash, thank you. XD

Lotta hugs~!

-isumi'kivic'and Ilde-


	3. Ashes to Ashes

Title: Hymne of Two Souls.

Author: isumi'kivic'

Beta: HARPG0, sinamour

Pairings: YuuriWolfram, mentions of GwenAni.

Warnings and Disclaimer: See previous chapter. =D

A/N: Hi again! This fic's pace will perhaps go a little bit too fast, but it's only beginning, so I hope everyone would stick until the end. Uh, just a little bit warning for this chapter's ending—I know this might make some people mad and throw flames at me, but this particular fic is one experiment of mine to see how far I could write an angst fic. I'd be utterly glad if you would read this fic until the very end and give me constructive criticisms through reviews. :3

A mountain of thanks to HARPG0 for beta-ing and bearing with all the grammar mistakes I made—I know my English is getting worse. Thank you so much for the wonderful suggestions, too; now I know which part I still have to work hard on! XD And then for sinamour, for beta-reading and suggestions on characterizations and a bit of grammar. Last but not least, my soulmate Rizuka, for beta-reading and critics on the plot-pace, as well as the reassurance. You guys are the best. :3

Alright peeps, do enjoy and please tell me what you think! A review a day keeps the doctor away, y'know… :DDD

A Kyou Kara Ma-Ou! Fanfiction

**Hymn of Two Souls**

_Chapter 3: Ashes to Ashes_

A week before the Royal Marriage, in the middle of inspecting the ballroom decorating progress in Gunter's stead, the Great Sage had asked Conrad a question that had never occurred to him.

"If both Shibuya and von Bielefeld-kyo were in danger and you couldn't save them both, whom would you save, Weller-kyo?"

He would save both—that was the first answer that left his mouth—no matter how; because while Yuuri was the beloved King he'd pledged his loyalty to, Wolfram was the brother he loved, and raised himself, with all his heart. Both boys were equally important to him, and he wouldn't be able to choose one of them. Wolfram in such situation, however, would insist that he saved Yuuri first, and told him not to worry because he was strong, and could take care of himself.

It was that thought that ran through his head, overriding all the panic and hesitation upon seeing his younger brother trying to burn the helpless Maou, laughing maniacally as if possessed by something wicked. It was the sole logic that made him move when no one else could move, ignoring the blistering heat of the burning fire on the grass, and letting his right hand strike the very last person he'd ever want to hurt, strong enough to send Wolfram's figure flying before crashing with a loud crack—indicating how hard the impact was. Everything was burning, hot, but Yuuri was safe in his arms, as he shouted for anybody to "Get Gisela and put off the fire, now!"

Even then, not once did his gaze stray away from the limp, unmoving figure of his blond brother.

Gwendal was the next to move after that—shouting firm orders and handling the situation with perfect professionalism. The oldest of the three brothers lifted Wolfram up, bridal-style, and with a nod, indicated Conrad to follow the lithe figure of Gisela—the green-haired healer barking at the soldiers to move faster and get the best healers ready—to the infirmary.

As he followed his older brother and Gunter's adopted daughter, Conrad could taste the bitter anger coiling in his throat. To whom the anger was directed, not even he himself had known. One thing was certain, though, the question Daikenja threw him never left his mind since the second his right arm struck Wolfram.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

His head hurt like hell—but at least the irritating voice in his head stopped.

A pair of brilliant emerald eyes slowly fluttered open, and as the light filled his vision, Wolfram let out a hiss. The pain that had been steadily pounding in his head suddenly turned into a searing one, leaving him dizzy. Where was he? What had happened?

"You're awake,"

The gentle, yet firm voice—Gisela. The smell of medicine, wet bandages and—fainter but still there—blood. Infirmary? His vision slowly grew clearer, and now he could see the female sergeant standing next to his bed—an unreadable expression on her face, and when she spoke again, her voice held a strange tone of formality. "Your brothers wanted to talk to you—do you feel well enough to see them, Wolfram-Kakka?"

"Yeah, fine—" an irritated tone sneaked into his voice—his head hurt so much.

Watching Gisela cross the room and step outside of the infirmary from the corner of his eyes, Wolfram took the opportunity to try to shift to a sitting position. His body felt lethargic for some reason, as though he had just released his whole maryoku into a single attack; his memory of what had happened was blurry, except for one vivid memory of Sara and Yuuri dancing across the room—and his anger raised slightly at that—_Yuuri, you wimp._

It took four times before he successfully pulled himself to sit up—and that was thanks to Gwendal's strong grip on his arm, helping him. Muttering a gratitude, his green eyes flew around to find the figure of his other brother, who stayed rooted to his place after closing the door behind him. Glancing up to look at Gwendal, Wolfram noticed his brother wearing the perfect stoic mask—determined blue eyes looking at him sharply.

Wolfram knew something was off.

"Aniue, what—"

"Heika is in the Royal Chamber, still unconscious." The news of his husband made Wolfram's eyes widen. He was about to open his mouth and ask what had happened, but Gwendal beat him to it. "Gisela said that he was holding his maryoku so he wouldn't hurt you when you attacked him—"

"Gwendal—" Conrad's soft protest sounded like a plea, and Wolfram felt his heart stop.

"—and it took a lot out of him. So it will take time before he will wake up. His upper left arm was burnt quite badly and it will take a long time to heal, and there were marks…like being strangled. Otherwise, he's considered fine, since his injuries aren't life threatening." Gwendal finished, eyes still locked with Wolfram's now wide and petrified ones. Behind him, Gisela sighed, and murmured something about "—the possibility of it being an accident—"

Gwendal's grip on his arm tightened almost painfully. "Wolfram," there was a thinly disguised worry and desperation lacing his gruff voice. "Explain."

And memories flooded his whole being—of the garden colored in red and black and Yuuri's neck under his tightening fingers; of the strangled sound of his name uttered into the smoke of the blazing grass; of the tumultuous laugh that was ripped from his throat and his body moving without his own consent—of him _not being him_. The realization brought a wave of trepidation surge through his whole existence, causing his body to shudder.

He hurt his King.

How did it happen again? He didn't even realize when exactly he had lost control of his body. There were voices, yes. Voices that had scared and frustrated him to no end lately, voices that whispered traitorous things and _hurt_ him to some extent. Voices that he didn't understand what it was, or what it wanted from him. Voices that made him sick to his core, feeling like the worst liar ever whenever he thought that it was _him_ thinking those horrible things the voices whispered…

His head pounding, Wolfram looked up, scanning his older brothers' faces to read how bad his situation was—but the mere thought of hurting Yuuri itself made his very existence ache with unbearable guilt and pain. Gwendal's stoic look hid any hint of the current situation, but Wolfram could practically hear the desperation that had sneaked into his older brother's voice: the desperation for Wolfram to clear up any misunderstanding caused by the incident.

Except—it wasn't a misunderstanding. He did hurt his King, even though he wasn't himself; but he did it. He'd strangled Yuuri with his own hands. He'd laughed and smiled at the satisfaction of hurting Yuuri—with his own lips, his own voice. He couldn't—wouldn't deny that. If he did, he'd be lying to himself. To everyone—to Yuuri. And he would never, ever lie to Yuuri.

His gaze fell upon Conrad's reserved manner and carefully-arranged blank face, and his heart fell. He knew that face. Unlike Gwendal, Conrad was not a stoic person—he was capable of expressions; he just wore his masks really well. And as a younger brother tied by blood, Wolfram prided himself for understanding Conrad's masks. This particular one that he wore now, however, rarely came out. The last time Wolfram had seen him wearing that blank expression was—

—when Julia died,.

Beneath the blank façade, Wolfram knew, was heavy guilt and regret. Conrad was torn with worry and desperation; and perhaps, Wolfram thought as his eyes caught Conrad's for a second, fear and uncertainty. Definitely not a positive expression—and that alone is enough to tell Wolfram how bad his situation is.

He hung his head. Hurting Yuuri. Hurting his beloved of all people—he didn't know if he could forgive himself for that.

"Aniue, please—" It was hard to keep his tone even, much less covering the fear apparent in his voice. "Please, seize me and put me in prison."

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

The words that came out of his youngest brother's lips froze him.

"What did you say?"

"You can't let me be here, Aniue, please." Wolfram raised his hands, looking at them as if he was seeing the most dangerous thing in Shin Makoku. "I—you don't understand, Aniue, this could happen again and next time—next time you and Conrad might not make it in time and Yuuri—Yuuri would—"

"You're injured." Gwendal snapped, anger growing rapidly in his chest. "Your head collided with the pillar and Gisela said there was a small fracture on your skull—you're in no shape to punish yourself over something that is not definite whether you were at fault or not."

"But I hurt the Maou!" his brother's voice raised, and Gwendal's gaze flew towards the silent Conrad, standing on the doorway, unmoving. The Lion of Ruttenberg couldn't even mask the troubled expression. "No matter who I am—even though I'm his Consort—anyone who tries to hurt the Maou shall be put on trial and given the death sentence—"

"How do you think Heika would react if you were put on trial for attempted murder, Wolfram? Think about it!"

"You don't understand! You can't let me be here. You can't! I'm not myself, and I don't know what'll happen or what's the worst I could do—and if Yuuri—if this happened again and I—and I killed him—I—" The last words came out in a shuddering breath, as Wolfram buried his face on his hands. "Please…"

"You're in no condition to—"

The blond looked up, emerald eyes blazing with anger and frustration. "Your loyalty to the King should come first before anything else, Aniue! You can't let me endanger Yuuri's life further! Next time… next time I might not—_you_ might not—"

Gwendal's eyebrow twitched in irritation—he knew how Wolfram was when his youngest brother got really stubborn. And to think what urged him to talk to Wolfram was the sheer panic of having to put his brother in trial—he was desperately hoping for Wolfram to explain, to defend himself, in any way possible; but instead, _this_ happened.

The irony of the world.

He let the silence that fell among the four of them stretch a little bit longer, silently weighing his choice. He was a Royal Administrator, and Wolfram was right: his duty and loyalty to the Maou and the country should come above anything else. Tonight's incident needed no time to spread out throughout all of Shin Makoku. And Gwendal knew too well that the people would expect a trial very soon—to witness with their own eyes how well they could keep the country's laws, even against the Prince Consort. If they failed to hold a trial when Wolfram was not even trying to deny his crime, the country's image would definitely tarnish—not only in the eyes of the Alliance, but also in the eyes of the people of the country itself.

It was no use trying to protect someone who did not even want to be protected after his crime.

But the thought of closing the prisoner's bars before his youngest brother's face—

"Please, Aniue." Wolfram's voice broke the silence, calling for him softly, pleading with a hint of helplessness tinting his voice. Almost like the time when he was only ten years old, begging him to go to the town festival. "Please. If I hurt Yuuri again, I won't be able to let myself live. Please."

Closing his eyes, Gwendal let out a deep sigh. His brother was stubborn. Doubly so whenever it came to their Maou. "I understand."

The expression on Wolfram's face seemed to relax a little—but Conrad instantly burst out into an angry protest, "Gwendal! We can't—"

"Not the dungeon. Not with the other criminals." Turning to face the younger man, Gwendal's gaze turned into that of a stern one. "We'd only make it worse for the country if we denied what Wolfram had done, Conrad. You know I can't do that. And Wolfram doesn't want to, either. We don't have any choice."

"But he's injured!" In three firm strides, Conrad closed the distance between him and his older brother, staring right into Gwendal's stern eyes. "You mean to let him face the trial after—after what happened? It's not even his fault!"

"We'll find a way to prove that it's not his fault," Gwendal replied evenly, slowly gaining back the unyielding persona of a Royal Administrator. But the look in Conrad's eyes was fierce, telling Gwendal that he would not accept those words as an excuse to throw their youngest brother into the prison. The hard eyes of the eldest son softened a little, a brotherly gaze sneaking into his blue eyes. Conrad had to understand. "Conrad. I promise we will."

The fierce look faded a little, replaced by a torn look on his face—the one that Gwendal recognized as the expression when he had been ordered to go to the Earth in order to look for a vessel for Julia von Wincott. But then, Wolfram's hands raised up, tugging them both on the sleeve, just the way he did when he was little and trying to get their attention.

"Conrad," Wolfram said, voice soft. "Please."

There were so many emotions crammed in that plea, so much trust in the way he said Conrad's name; Gwendal couldn't even begin to describe it. Perhaps it was _I'll leave Yuuri to you,_ or _You have to protect Yuuri, even if at the cost of my life,_ or maybe it was a question of_ I can trust you more than anyone, can't I?_ Or perhaps, it was a simple _Thank you for stopping me,_ and _I'm sorry you have to go through this._

And that was all it took to get Conrad to relent.

-o0oYuuramo0o-

The sharp, familiar odor of Anissina's lab whiffed through her nose as she closed the door behind her, warm brown eyes quietly searching for a slender figure with shocking red hair somewhere in the white fog that somehow had manifested in the room filled with weird machines. A small smile graced her lips as she shook her head—no. This room was filled with dreams, brilliance, and dignity. She'd associated Anissina with those words, placing her up high in the pedestal of an idol.

"Anissina?"

"Come here, Hime-sama, I'm in the corner."

She found Anissina standing before her newest project—Kiss-Away-All-The-Wrinkles-Kun—with a book on her hand, looking apprehensive. Taking a good look and mentally guessing what this newest machine would do it was finished, Greta looked up. "It's not going well?"

"I haven't found the right formula for this one. I will later, though." The book was snapped closed and put back on the table. "What time is it?"

"It's almost dinner time. You've been holed up in here for three days. Are you coming to dinner tonight?"

The woman's hand found Greta's head and mussed it, upsetting the carefully arranged brown locks crowning her head. Not that the princess minded. She watched Anissina as the redhead sigh tiredly and sat down, gesturing for her to do the same. She complied, aware of the calculating gaze Anissina kept at her as she took her seat.

"Tea?"

Greta blinked. "But it's almost dinner time."

"Ladies have the right to eat as much as they want." Anissina's trademark smirk appeared as she poured a cup of tea and placed a plate of Maou manjuu before her guest, before sitting back down. "Let me guess—you don't want to come to dinner alone tonight?"

Greta fidgeted for a second before allowing herself to let out a sigh. "Greta still finds it hard to have dinner with royal guests without Yuuri and Wolfram," she said quietly, unconsciously reverting back to the way she talked when she was little. "Gwendal is there, and Conrad, too… but it's not the same. Greta doesn't feel… _safe_."

Anissina nodded once. "You don't have to have dinner with the others if you don't want to. Everyone deserves a break. Say, let's go to the kitchen and eat whatever we want with the maids later. How's that sound?"

Greta's face brightened in a way only a little child's could. "Really?" she asked excitedly, widening her eyes for effect. "I don't have to? But is that really okay? Günter might get mad…"

Rolling her eyes, Anissina let out an amused chuckle. "Don't worry about Günter. I can always threaten him with my invention." She gave a cheeky wink, drawing a laugh out of the princess. Greta grinned then, eyes twinkling with childish mischief she still retained as she grew up.

Silence reigned over them—leaving only the sound of Anissina's machine working automatically in the background; her maryoku-collecting machine pumping up and down continuously. Greta took a manjuu, playing it between he fingers as she stared at the grinning face of Yuuri imprinted on the snack. The light in her eyes faded almost instantly.

"Greta hopes Yuuri will wake up soon…" Again, her way of talking reverted back like when she was little.

"Heika is still in bed?" Anissina stood up, taking a seat next to Greta. It was the easiest position she could have when comforting the princess, and she knew how upset Greta could be when something bad happened to one of her fathers. True enough, the twelve-year-old princess leaned on her shoulder while still looking down at the manjuu, and Anissina softly stroked the girl's hair.

"They won't let Wolfram out of his room. Greta can't visit him, either." She paused when her voice trembled, and took a breath to control it—the way she noticed Wolfram often did long ago. She scrunched up her face, searching for the term she'd hear Gwendal told Gisela earlier—what was it? "Gwendal said Wolfram is to be put in… uh… room confinement? What does that mean, Anissina?"

She felt Anissina's movement paused, and felt her shoulders stiffen—a bad omen. Whatever a room confinement meant, it definitely was not good. "Anissina?"

"I'm going to have a talk with Gwendal about this." Anissina murmured under her breath. "Wolfram is injured, isn't he? This isn't something—unless—and if Wolfram asked—then we don't have any choice except putting the trial on, and if Heika isn't conscious—and now all the country guests would stay for the trial to be held—"

"Anissina?" Greta repeated, worried. "Will something bad happen?"

The redhead blinked, as if Greta had just snapped her out of a stupor. A forced smile appeared on her face, and Greta felt a hand petting up her head. "Don't worry, Hime-sama. Gwendal will handle everything just fine in the stead of your fathers, okay?"

Worrying her bottom lip, Greta swallowed down the worry that threatened to rule over her existence, and stood up. "Let's go to the kitchen," she said, tugging Anissina's hand. "I want sweets. Lots of them."

-o0oYuuramo0o-

"What in the name of Shinou were you thinking, Gwendal?"

Conrad watched as Anissina rounded the table, a raging expression etched on her usually confident face. It was a wonder that Gwendal dared to challenge her—eye to eye—while she was on her raging fit, much more because the Royal Administrator didn't seem to waver at all.

"It's your own brother you're about to put on the trial! And you know what will happen—with all the Alliance guests and the whole country watching," she paced around the room, her heel clicking on the marble floor, going faster and faster as it indicates how angry she was getting. "You'll have no choice but to give him a death sentence!"

"I won't," Gwendal replied, using his matter-of-fact tone to counter Anissina's angry pitch. "We'll find the proof that Wolfram is not at fault—"

She nearly growled. Nearly—but no, she was a lady still, and Ladies did not growl. She eyes Gwendal exasperatedly, unable to believe that Gwendal—the ever cool-headed and strict Gwendal von Voltaire—made this decision. No, she wasn't angry because Greta got all depressed over her adoptive parents condition; and Anissina rarely cared about the political matters of Shin Makoku, really. What made her angry was the fact that one of her long-life friends' life is on the line, and Gwendal, who supposedly took care of everything to make them right, this time made a mistake just because he was unable to refuse Wolfram's suicidal wish. Since when did Gwendal grow soft on things like this?

Yes. It was Gwendal's inappropriate softness that irked her to no end. A softness in an inapt time like this, and it brought huge problems to them. To Shin Makoku. And even though Anissina could care less about the political situation, Shin Makoku was still her country, and Wolfram was still her friend—and she treasured both.

"But the fact is Wolfram did attack Heika!" Anissina cut in, stopping dead right before Gwendal's desk, glowering. Couldn't Gwendal understand how grave his mistake was? "The fact is that many guards saw it happen, Gwendal, and what they saw was Wolfram attacking Heika—and it wouldn't matter to anybody else whether Wolfram was himself or not! And to have Wolfram confined is the same as telling the whole country and alliance that the Royal Consort acknowledged that it was no accident, that it was his fault. We have no proof of esoteric stones controlling Wolfram or things like that. So, there's nothing you can do but to let the Ten Aristocrats judge him with a death sentence!"

"It was Wolfram's request." Gwendal answered quietly. Obviously, he had nothing to counter Anissina with. "When Heika wakes up, he'll forgive Wolfram, and that's that. If Heika gives a statement that it's not Wolfram's fault, everything will settle down."

"And how long do you think Heika will be out? There's no guarantee he'll wake up right on time!" she paced around again for several moments, exasperation mixed with worry apparent on her face. "Oh, Gwendal…" the redhead sighed, forlornly. "Why didn't you think about this further?"

"I had no choice." Gwendal said, voice steady—but Conrad noticed the stressed blue eyes looking up into Anissina's lighter ones; almost pleading for her to understand. Anissina paused at that, and Conrad could practically see her calming herself—her fist clenching and unclenching—before taking her previous seat. Silence filled the room for several moments, before Anissina broke it with a noticeably calmer voice.

"Have you told Celi-sama about this?"

"Yes." Gwendal answered, and there was an edge of nervousness tinting his voice. "Hahaue wouldn't come out of her room ever since the incident."

"Let me guess. It's her fault for holding the ball in the first place. That's what she thinks. Am I right?" At that, Gwendal and Conrad exchanged glances. She let out a bitter laugh. "Some things never change. I should've known where Wolfram got his self-blame streak from."

"_Anissina_." Conrad's voice held a warning tone now, but the long exhale that came from the redhead cut whatever it was he was about to say. Anissina stood up, looking pointedly at Gwendal.

"You do realize that you hold full responsibility of the Kingdom in the stead of Heika and his Consort, Gwendal." She said deliberately, and Gwendal's left eye twitched. It had been some time since Anissina talked to him with that kind of tone. "I believe you'll do your best to save your brother. Leave Celi-sama and Greta to me while you're at that." The inventor got up to leave. "Oh, and Gwendal? Don't mess up."

"You know… If you'd taken the trouble of inviting me, I would have provided a suggestion or two over this matter."

The familiar voice came just as the door swung open, and the three occupants of the room turned around. The familiar figure clad in all black, regal attire with glinting glasses perched on the bridge of his nose walked in, drawing the whole room's attention on him. Murata Ken closed the door behind him, offering a thin smile—and the rest of them knew instantly: whatever his suggestion was, it wasn't going to be easy on them.

"Would it save Wolfram?" Conrad spoke first, letting the very first hint of desperation sneak into his voice.

Murata sighed. "In a way, yes. We'll need some time to investigate what's happening. All we have to do is secure von Bielefeld-kyo while we're at it." He rounded the table, past Conrad and stood right next to Anissina, fixing calculative, but grave eyes on Gwendal. Conrad felt something tense hanging in the air when the silence followed the Daikenja's words, and he could not hold himself from inquiring much further, "Secure Wolfram?"

The soukoku nodded. "Shinou said he'd help us. The thing is—well, we have to keep this as a secret, even from Shibuya. He's not that good in the 'keeping secrets' department," he paused, pushing up his glasses as it glinted in a mysterious way. Conrad exchanged a glance with Gwendal—transferring his doubts and wary feelings about the plan Murata hadn't even mentioned. If it were something to be kept even from the Maou himself, then this idea would be very, very dreadful.

"We just have to be cautious, is all." The Daikenja offered a thin smile, trying to sound reassuring. "Our priority is to keep von Bielefeld-kyo away from the trial and death sentence."

"But to keep it secret even from Heika…" Anissina murmured. "Heika is the one who has absolute right over his Consort, since they're married and all—I'm sure he would not appreciate this if he ever found out…"

"But it'll save Wolfram." Gwendal repeated, blue eyes burning fiercely at the soukoku; showing his determination and desperation. "Tell us, Geika. We'll bear with it."

-o0oYuuramo0o-

Yuuri woke up at dawn.

His throat constricted the moment he tried to let out a groan, as if a handful of beach sand had just been shoved down into his throat. He hacked, and coughed several times, and that was all he needed to get a healer's attention. The silver-haired healer came closer—apparently, she was on duty to keep an eye on the Maou's condition. Politely inquiring whether the Maou was alright with a relieved look on her face, she offered a glass of water, and Yuuri drank it gratefully.

"It's a relief that Heika is back with us," the healer smiled as Yuuri sagged back into his bed, feeling utterly exhausted as if he'd just run an endless marathon. His left arm stung, but when he let out a painful hiss, the healer politely came closer and put a green-glowing hand to perform a healing magic. He felt his eyes gradually become heavier, and he snuggled deeper into his bed, ready to go back to a dreamless sleep.

The thought entered his mind, floating like a cloud: _That's weird. Where's everyone..?_

It was Greta's hysterical shriek that startled him up.

"_It's a __**lie**__!"_

His eyes snapped open—every sense alert, and he struggled to sit up, though the healer desperately tried to make him lie back down. He listened intently—there were hurried footsteps, light and heavy ones; scurrying out the hallway. Voices overlapped each other—Greta's shriek, a feminine and authoritative voice telling everyone to back off, horrified murmurs that weren't quiet enough to be 'murmurs' any longer, and panicked guards shouting to each other. Yuuri tensed; he could hear Günter's voice talking so fast he couldn't catch what he was saying; but it sounded like something was wrong.

"Out." He grunted, forcing himself to move and get off the bed. "Help me out."

"But Heika—"

"Now." The authoritative tone he learned from Gwendal had never failed him. The healer stuttered, obviously taken aback, before relenting and helped the Maou to stand up. Yuuri gritted his teeth; his legs buckled and he fell back down onto the bed at his first attempt. He reached for the bed post for his second attempt and managed to steady himself—but panic and worry had wormed their way into his heart, and he was practically dying to know what was happening out there.

The huge door of the Royal Chamber swung open and Yuuri stepped out, helped by the silver-haired healer. Several running guards skidded to a stop—looking terrified at the presence of their Maou, and it scared Yuuri even more. Down the hallway, Greta's shriek had turned into a painful wail, repeating the same word over and over again, "It's a lie, a lie, a lie, a lie, _A LIE…!"_

Yuuri paused, looking towards where everyone was heading, and his heart dropped to his stomach when he realized whose room it was.

Wolfram's old room.

"Wolfram…" he breathed out, and suddenly his feet found enough strength to move, to stumble forward and down the hallway. A guard caught his right arm and gripped it tight just in time before he fell, but Yuuri broke free from the hold and staggered further, grunting to anyone who could hear him to get off his way and let him through and what the hell was happening—

"Celi-sama!" Gisela's alarmed voice reached his ears as his hand reached the doorway, pulling himself forward, and he saw Gisela move to catch the falling figure of Cecilie. Guards rushed in at Gisela's call, crowding his line of vision—he could barely see a sobbing Greta in Anissina's arms.

"Heika!" Conrad stepped in front of him, blocking him from what was happening, and Yuuri subconsciously let a growl, warning him to step aside. Conrad tensed, tried to reason with a "You have just recovered, Heika, please—this is not something—"

Something smelt burnt.

Yuuri stepped in, reaching for Conrad's arm to steady himself, and finally got a good look.

His heart stopped.

There were ashes on the floor—black and still burning, scattered in a radius of fifty centimeters, and amongst them: pieces of torn blue fabrics singed black on the edges, frayed white, embroidered cloth that Yuuri just knew was previously a beautiful cravat, and several small round beads colored in dark blue, and some smaller white ones which some were horribly melted, supplying his brain with the picture of a familiar glint of a cravat ornament under the sun, encircling a cravat-covered neck. His stomach lurched at the thought. He tried to move forward; three steps, and his leg stumbled—strength ebbing away from him in an instant—until he fell on his knees right before a heap of ashes. With a trembling hand, he reached, grasping a handful of ashes and let them fall slowly; and his eyes widened as a strand of golden hair stuck between his forefinger and his thumb.

No.

Just—no.

Somewhere in the room, Greta choked a familiar name in a painful sob, over and over again. From the corner of his eyes, Yuuri saw Gwendal stand, visibly trembling, shoulders hunched up and looking as if he was trying with all his might to make himself disappear. Günter stood slightly off to the side, looking more horrified than ever as a hand covered his mouth, eyes shining with tears and disbelief. He felt a strong hand clamped on his shoulder, hard, as if transferring the pain of facing reality—and he knew it was Conrad.

"It's a _lie_—"

It's a dream, he thought. He must have been still asleep, out cold on his bed—_their_ bed—snuggled safely inside the warm covers. When he woke up, he'd see his beloved there, waiting for him to rouse with his usual worry and annoyance mixed on his expression, would call him a wimp and yell at him for worrying everybody—would grasp his hand tightly half in relief and half in his usual worried anger, and he would laugh nervously in hopes for his Consort not to burn him on the ass.

"No…" he breathed out shakily, bringing his trembling hands upwards and buried his face into them, feeling the soft ashes left in his palms scraped against his skin—his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, his lips—and he shuddered when he felt the golden strand tickled the corner of his lips; _like a fluttering goodbye kiss—_"Wolfram…" he whispered painfully, soundlessly, because his throat constricted and it hurt; it hurt like his own existence was ripped off his body forcefully, leaving an empty shell behind.

"He set himself on fire…?"

Someone murmured, sounding frightened.

"…burnt himself to ashes…the Prince Consort, I can't believe…"

"…could have been because of that incident…?"

Something in his stomach reeled, his head swam. He opened his mouth and tried to say something—anything, to deny the murmurs, to reassure everyone that everything would be okay, to call out for Wolfram—but he choked on nothing, and his voice just died.

"_It's a lie_—"

_Yes, Greta, this is just a dream_, he wanted to say. _Don't worry_. Wolfram would just waltz in at anytime and grin at them for falling for his joke—except that Wolfram would never play a joke like this, like this horrible joke and Yuuri couldn't understand _why_.

When the tears finally came, his world was already wrapped back in blackness and void.

_Wolf…ram…_

-o0oend chaptero0o-

A/N: I'm sorry to say this but—did you guys expect that? Ohohoho. –grins, ducks out of thrown tomatoes-

Uh—how should I say this, some of you perhaps wants to stop reading this fic and probably are disappointed of how this fic turns out. But as I've said, it's only the beginning. I'd be really, really happy if you guys decide to follow this fic till the very end, and I'll try my best not to disappoint any of you.

That and—since it's the first time I write something this intense myself, any constructive criticisms is welcome! I don't respond to flame, but I appreciate constructive criticisms and enthusiastic reviews very much. Thank you again for reading this far, and please do stick through the end! =D

Yours truly,

-isumi'kivic' and Ilde-


	4. Those who were Left

Title: Hymne of Two Souls.

Author: isumi'kivic'

Beta: HARPG0

Pairings: YuuriWolfram, mentions of GwenAni.

Warnings and Disclaimer: See previous chapter. =D

A/N: Thank you for those who reviewed! =D And I'm sorry for taking such a long time—rl practically eats me alive. ;;-;; And this chapter gives me a lot of headache, for English isn't my native language and I have issues with wordings. D: Thank you to HARPG0, as usual, for bearing with me and being an awesome beta—I tried my best to work on stuff, I hope this is approved. ;3

That aside, please enjoy, and please tell me what you think? =D

A Kyou Kara Ma-Ou! Fanfiction

**Hymn of Two Souls**

_Chapter 4: Those who were Left._

The funeral was solemn, filled with people dressed in white from head to toe. The aristocrats were seated on the front row, in front of the rest of the people of the high caste. In the very back, lining down the paths out of Shinou's Shrine and through the market and people's houses were the commoners, holding bouquets and bouquets of flowers—men and women, young and old, children and adults. The Guards assigned wore white ribbons on their arms, and the Shrine maidens were all clad in white and soft gold attire; symbolizing the cycle of death and life.

There was no casket—not without a corpse left behind. Murata took the initiative to put Wolfram's ashes into a white and blue ceramic urn that reminded Yuuri of one of his mother's proud china collections. It was placed on a pedestal; veiled with a pure black cloth. Surrounding it were the vibrant yellow flowers that were Beautiful Wolframs. Ulrike performed a blessing ritual intending to send the soul of the dead peacefully, before the Ten Aristocrats—who were all there including Adelbert, oddly—gave a farewell speech, represented by none other than Waltorana von Bielefeld.

Yuuri was part of the front row mourners, dressed in his usual black attire, next to a sobbing Greta and Lady Cecilie, staring blankly ahead as Waltorana's speech droned on without any expression etched on his face. His hands were clasped weakly on his knee, holding a lone strand of golden hair that gleamed under the sun rays which were slipping through the windows. The Maou sat silently, looking straight ahead at the veiled ceramic urn as if it was the only thing in this world that mattered.

It was odd, he thought—he was supposed to be crying, just like Greta and Cecilie and even Conrad whom he spotted mutely weeping a single tear merely a minute ago. Or, at least, emanating a dark aura like Gwendal—or, or simply looking grave like the rest of the people present. It was only proper to mourn when a beloved person died; and Wolfram was someone whom many people loved—and Yuuri loved Wolfram. He still did. But—

"—Maou-Heika, please do."

He blinked. What? Waltorana was walking back to his seat—a tight expression on his face—and the rest of the Aristocrats were looking expectantly at him. Oh, right. He was supposed to give the last farewell speech, wasn't he? Slowly, the soukoku rose from his seat, shaking his head when Günter moved to help him walk up and gave the silver-haired man a small smile. He should be strong enough to walk on his own now, he thought, and made a step forward almost mechanically.

His body felt strange. It didn't feel like it really was him who stepped up on the platform. Oddly, he felt like he was watching himself standing there from somewhere else, looking at the rest of the mourning mass with a blank stare. There were so many people—would Wolfram be glad to know that his funeral was attended by nearly everyone in the kingdom?

A pair of onyx eyes swept the whole chamber, easily recognizing people clad in total white—in exception of Cecilie. White—he'd always pictured white as a color of purity, innocence, and kindness. He couldn't understand why Shin Makoku's culture dictated that white symbolized death and sadness. He remembered Günter explaining something along the lines of something that was eternal and the cycle of life and death and its correlation to the color of white once, but his brain refused to grasp the concept. His black attire was a contrast to the whole room, he thought, before laying his gaze on the pedestal; radiant with yellow flowers surrounding the black-veiled ceramic urn—symbolizing that the dead was a member of Royal Family.

What was he supposed to say again?

"_He was a really good person—Wolfram was. A bit hard to understand, but I wouldn't have had it any other way."_

His throat closed up, and nothing came out. He clenched his right hand harder, the single strand of golden hair swaying slightly in his hold. Two onyx orbs stared at the mass, hardening as he noticed them waiting for his non-existent words. What was the use? Wolfram wasn't here anymore. Nothing they could say would make a difference. None of Yuuri's words would be heard by the deceased Prince Consort.

"_He used to call me a wimp—and, in a way, I am. I know he only wanted to see me become a good king for Shin Makoku, for everyone—always, always worrying about everything I did. Manners, courtesy, self-defense, my lessons and responsibilities, even something trivial like reading a bedtime story to Greta. He was bright, always bright. I was supposed to be the sun, but for me, he was more than that. He was—he was light. My light."_

He opened his mouth to say the words—the words that he'd carefully crafted in his mind before so he wouldn't run his mouth wild and make a huge mistake at his own husband's funeral. He'd memorized them; each and every word, but his voice wouldn't work. Somehow, it felt like breathing was getting harder and harder to do.

"_He was more than just a Prince Consort. He was a friend—one of my best friends. He'd help me skip lessons numerous times, stole some midnight snacks from the kitchen, or drag me to model for his newest painting. He was family—my husband, my partner for life. He looked after Greta when I couldn't—heck, he might have spent more time with Greta than I ever have. He was awkward, sometimes, but still cute. I—I really wouldn't have had him any other way."_

The first tear that fell from his left eye startled him. Something in his chest constricted painfully, and the feeling of helplessness bubbled up; threatening to swallow him whole. He glanced again, at the veiled ceramic urn, and the pain was intensified thousands of times. He was suddenly acutely aware of the crowds before him, still waiting for the first word to made its way out of his mouth—and now faint whispers echoed in the chamber, startled at their king's tearful silence. Another tear fell, and then another, and he thought, _Gods, Wolfram, look at me. I'm crying right in front of my whole country, and you aren't here. You aren't here—you left and I'm… I'm alone…_

"_I've loved him. For a long time, I've loved him and no one else. He accused me of cheating sometimes, but that's all my own fault, I think. I never told him honestly that I loved him—I should have. It was cruel of me, I know. He never protested, though, not even once. But if—if I were given a second chance, another chance to see him now, smiling, breathing, alive—"_

And then he was crying, sobbing helplessly as more and more tears flowed down his cheeks with no restraint. His legs buckled, strength completely leaving him as he buried his face into his palms and wept, forgetting even to breathe because his chest hurt when he did—and maybe, maybe it didn't matter anymore. Maybe breathing wasn't really important anymore now that Wolfram was—

_I love you. I love you. I love you. Hear me, Wolfram, please. Come back. I love you. I love you. I'll say it hundreds of times, thousands if you want, but please come back. Please. I love you. I love you. I love you._

He felt a pair of warm, small arms wound around his shoulders, and heard Greta's broken whimpers joined his. He pulled Greta tighter into his embrace, not caring that they both were kneeling on the platform before his whole country—and blubbered disjointed, incoherent words into his daughter's ears.

"—did. I still do—"

"Yes, Yuuri…"

"—my fault. My fault. I'm sorry—"

"Greta understands, Yuuri…"

"—should've said—should've told him—"

"Yes…"

"—but I love him, too—"

Greta didn't say anything else. She tightened her embrace, and Yuuri let go entirely. He wept as his shoulders shuddered; heaving gulps of air only to let them go in forms of loud, broken sobs that would wreck his body to exhaustion.

The whole chamber fell silent after the heart-wrenching sight of their maou—none of them dared to make a sound or even moved. And Yuuri didn't mind that. This was something they couldn't join in; a pain that only Yuuri could understand, a loss that only Yuuri could feel. What Yuuri felt was something that they couldn't even begin to comprehend. Because his light was lost forever, and for all his supposedly magnificent Maou power, he could do nothing to bring it back.

-o0oYuuramo0o-

"Conrad?"

He halted instantly, right hand hovering just inches before the door handle of the Royal Chamber; inches from pulling it open. His breath was caught in his throat—because even though Greta's voice was soft, there was still an accusing edge in her voice. He turned his head to the side, just enough to catch the sight of Greta sitting on the edge of the bed. Behind her, their king lay motionless, a hand over his eyes. Conrad could still hear the hitching sounds as the young king tried to suck air into his lungs every so often. He knew Yuuri wasn't asleep—not yet. Most likely, Yuuri wouldn't be able to sleep at all tonight.

"Yes, Hime-sama?"

"Greta knows this isn't the right time to ask, but—" the little princess hesitated, and Conrad could almost see her swallow back the question that was mere inches away from slipping out of her lips. He bit his own tongue then, worried that an apology would rip itself out of his throat at the grave tone Greta used. She was still such a child, he thought. A child who had lost her own mother when she was so little—and she didn't deserve this.

Then again, none of them did.

"What happened, Conrad?"

He could hear the sliver of fear sneaking into her voice, overridden by the quiet desperation to know the truth. Silence once again reigned the room—and it was just then he noticed that he was holding his breath. He exhaled as softly as possible, before shaking his head weakly. At once, he could feel the sharp gaze of the little princess burning the back of his head.

"You're lying."

Again, he bit his tongue hard.

"Why, Conrad?" now, her tone was pleading, and the desperation was more evident than she obviously thought. "Why does it have to be Wolfram?"

Because something wasn't right, he wanted to answer. Because Wolfram needed this. They needed this. Because it was much better to lose Wolfram this way than the other, even though it didn't make it any less painful for the knowledge that he—

"Conrad…?"

His lips parted, and it seemed there was a moment when he had to struggle to move them until the words finally came—"…killed him."

Simultaneously, two breaths hitched—their echoes rebounded in the chamber, making it seem like there were dozens of the original sound. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

"I killed him." His voice was quiet, but firm enough except for the trembling wisp of air that escaped his lips on the last syllable. "I was the one who killed Wolfram."

He reached out for the handle, grasped it hard until his knuckles turned white and pulled it open slightly, just enough for him to slip out of the chamber that now pained him even just by being there: the chamber that still had the scent of his younger brother, the chamber that was still decorated with flowers named after his brother, the chamber where he knew his brother had had his most treasured memories with his king. The chamber that still held the last remaining existence of Wolfram von Bielefeld.

"Have a good rest, Heika, Hime-sama. Excuse me."

The last thing he heard before letting the thick, wooden door close behind him with a gentle thud was Greta's choked denial of "Liar…"

If only she were right.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

His hands were shaking.

A ball wrapped in wools lay on his lap, untouched. On the floor, colorful strings and various-sized needles were scattered; the box that they were supposedly in had fallen onto the floor with a loud thud when he reached for it from the bedside. His hands were shaking so badly that he had to fist them hard until he could feel his nails digging onto his palm. Tiredly, grey eyes glazed over the untouched wools—the tips of his fingers almost longed to snatch one of the needles and start knitting; but his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Were Wolfram to see him, he was beyond sure that the spoiled golden-haired brother of his would snort and try to hide that particular boyish laugh and snickers behind his hands in vain. Just as the way he had done so when his Mother had announced that they were going to hold a dance party in order to look for his so-called soul mate.

It felt like years ago since that happened.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed that way, unmoving, drowned in the waves of memories—of the day he stepped into his Mother's chamber to see the small, fragile baby with the softest blond hair he'd ever laid his hands on and the brightest emerald eyes looking up at him. Of a small hand holding onto his forefinger as the owner tried to walk; rich, enthusiastic laughter belonged to his two younger brothers and his Mother filling the room. Of the day he felt icy fingers clawing up his throat when the Daikenja announced his brother's heart had stopped beating. Of his youngest brother stubborn refusal to take the crown after the young maou left their world and was said to never come back. Of fierce determination shining in those very same green eyes when he asked his brother to go back to the land of Bielefeld and talk to his uncle. Of the day happy tears overflowed the emerald orbs as Gwendal watched the wedding procession—pride and joy welling up his chest. He could still remember the first time he caught the maou kissing his brother—the both of them blushing madly when they realized Gwendal was standing in front of the door.

But the red color spreading across his youngest brother's face was a proof—that he was alive. That he was happy. And Gwendal wanted to see it again.

A soft knock rapped on his door, reverberating in the corner of his silent room. He looked up, saw the door handle move before the door swung open slowly, and the familiar figure of his childhood friend appeared on the doorway.

"Gwendal."

Her ponytail swishing behind her, Anissina stepped in and closed the door. Grey eyes met blue, and Gwendal could already hear the scolding he was sure Anissina was about to launch at him. _Are you done moping around? Is this what a royal administrator should be doing? Move, Gwendal, I know you have things to take care of! Are you going to let poor Günter handle everything instead?_—strings of words after words that could possibly be said only by the redhead swirled around in his mind. Only Anissina would dare say things like that to him. He averted his eyes, choosing to focus on the abandoned wool instead.

There were sounds of light steps as Anissina moved closer to him, but he kept his head down, trying harder than ever to stop the shaking of his hands. Anissina should not see this. They weren't children anymore. He was supposed to be a pillar for everyone to lean on—he didn't need Anissina to support him like she did when they were young.

His bed dipped slightly—Anissina had sat down next to him, smartly avoiding the sharp objects scattered on the floor. He listened as she scuffled awkwardly; how long had it been since the last time she sat down on his bed? Ten, twenty years ago? Perhaps more? He heard Anissina let out a long, resigned sigh, and the room surrendered before the silence.

Then, a pair of warm, firm hands covered his, holding them tight.

Gwendal started. Daring himself to look up only to find Anissina's blue eyes staring right deep into his, something in his chest suddenly bubbled up, starting a whirlwind of emotions that he could only barely suppress. Anissina's hold tightened, and there was something in her eyes—fierce and painful—and her lips were moving…what?

"—not your fault."

Gwendal blinked.

"This isn't your fault, Gwendal. Not yours alone, at least." He watched her lower lip quiver a little at the last word. "We're—we're all in this."

His hands were squeezed once, and Anissina let go. In one quick motion, she was on her feet, high and confident as she always was, looking down at him with a determined gaze. Her red pony tail swished again as she turned around and strode toward the door, swinging it open and disappearing before Gwendal could even open his mouth to disagree.

Looking back onto his hands, he noticed that they'd stopped shaking.

But the whirlwind of emotions in his chest was still moving, fast—sending his whole mind into turmoil. He took a sharp, trembling gasp, raised his palms, and buried his face onto them.

Maybe, he could pretend that the salty droplets rolling down his cheeks weren't tears.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

It took Sara a week before he was able to muster up all his courage to ask Greta.

"I'd like to meet the Maou." He purposefully used Yuuri's title instead of saying his given name like he always did. He nearly flinched when Greta moved to look up blankly at him—he was expecting the princess' eyes to be filled with hatred. Or maybe accusation. Or maybe _'this is all your fault if you hadn't pulled off that cruel joke I wouldn't have lost one of my fathers and that is why I can't forgive you! Go away! Why are you still here?'_ stare. To say that he was quite surprised to see no emotions in those usually warm, brown orbs was an understatement.

Greta stood up, albeit a little less graceful than she usually did. "I really shouldn't." She muttered, loud enough only for Sara to catch the tightness in her voice. "I really shouldn't, but I know how you feel."

"Greta-Hime…" he began, but Greta shook her head softly; her brown bangs swaying as she started down the hallway, motioning the King of Shou Shimaron to follow. Sara swallowed down whatever it was he was about to say. He glanced at his uncle—forever faithful staying next to him in his times of need—and shook his head, signaling that he would be fine by himself. After all, nearly all the royal guests of Shin Makoku were gone—aside from the aristocrats who were still staying in the castle under their obligation, only the representatives from Francia, Lady Fuurin and her party, and his own party were still in the Blood Pledge Castle.

Greta led him as the two of them made their way through the long, strangely bleak hallways of Blood Pledge Castle. The normally merry and cheerful atmosphere associated with it and its inhabitants had gone with no trace. Everyone seemed to be avoiding each other, as if a plague had overrun the entire place. Several maids and guards bowed respectfully when they passed, but Sara heard their usual cheerful greetings no more. It was as if they were thrown into a completely different dimension, and Sara felt uncomfortable with it.

They stopped directly in front of the Royal Bedroom, and Sara halted automatically; knowing that this was a room he had no right to enter except with Yuuri's permission. Greta knocked twice before opening the door cautiously, poking her head in. "Yuuri? Sara-Heika wants to talk to you. Do you-"

Yuuri was obviously saying something from inside, because Greta paused for a second—no, longer. The small princess was silent for awhile, her gesture spoke of not knowing what to do or what to say, and Sara couldn't stop himself from saying, almost hurriedly, "Tell him I want to apologize."

Greta turned to look at him, locking their eyes for a second, before poking her head back and calling again, "Yuuri—"

"—him come in," the young Maou's voice drifted out, and Greta turned to Sara, pushing the door a little bit wider. Sara took a deep breath, swallowed and mentally steeled himself. He'd face it, whatever Yuuri would say to him. As long as he could ease the guilt eating away at him a little bit—as long as he let Yuuri know that he was truly sorry for the horrible, horrible joke and that if he were given a second chance, he wouldn't ever, ever do that again.

He stepped into the chamber lit by pale candles—hearing Greta's steps following and the door closing behind him. The evening sun rays sneaked through the thin curtains, providing enough help for him to see every single thing in the room. The little princess briskly strode to the corner of the room; where a dark figure was sitting in a chair. Sara tailed her with his eyes, staying rooted to where he was. Then, he opened his mouth, only to choke on his first syllable. "Yuu—"

"I didn't want to talk to you," Yuuri mumbled, loud enough for him to hear—but that wasn't what rendered him speechless. It was Yuuri's wrecked face that made his heart sink—the pitiful dark rings forming clearly around his eyes, the unruly black hair, and the bloodshot, hollow onyx orbs that had lost their shine.

Moreover, even though the Maou was wearing his usual formal attire—obviously had just come back from his office—but the fabric he was clutching to his chest was definitely—

—definitely Wolfram's blue uniform. And that was when he realized that the black attire wasn't Yuuri's usual one; it was Wolfram's. The one he usually wore with his blue jacket. And, for some reason, it made it hard for him to look at Yuuri in the eye.

Worrying his bottom teeth, a tone of helplessness sneaking into the blond king's voice as he said softly, "I wanted to let you know that I'm sor—"

The hand clutching the blue uniform was white-knuckled. Sara swallowed, hard.

"Yuuri, I—"

"Please leave," the young maou said quietly. There was no malice in his voice—no anger or hatred; not even the slightest accusation. Just an apparent exhaustion, physically and mentally, as if Yuuri was too tired to even _feel_ anything. "I'm not blaming you—I don't even know whether I'm mad at you or not. I just—I can't handle all of this. Not now—not when—it's too—"

His voice shattered at the last syllable—Sara flinched ever so slightly at that. He saw Greta had moved from behind Yuuri, placing a small, comforting hand on his shoulder in a vain attempt of being a pillar of strength. Wrenching his gaze away from Yuuri, he was suddenly aware of the numerous yellow flowers scattered on the floor, in the vases on tables and bedside table, on the window sills, and even on the bed. Those yellow flowers were familiar, and Sara—having visited previously Cecilie's flower garden with the exuberant, enthusiastic former maou offering to be his so-called guide—knew what flowers they were.

Beautiful Wolframs. No wonder the chamber smelled very nice.

"Saralegi-Heika," Greta's soft call was the one who pulled his gaze back to the father and daughter. Her brown eyes held an intense look of sadness now, and it was as if something pierced his chest all over again. Looking at Yuuri was worse because Sara could practically see the regrets and raw anger contorting his usual happy-go-lucky face. And it was at this time, Sara was glad to have formality conduct saving him.

Bowing quietly, he said, "If there's anything Shou Shimaron—no, I can do for you—for Shin Makoku… please do not hesitate to ask." He paused, looking unsure at the young maou. "Are we—still friends, Yuuri?"

More than anything, what he was scared of was losing Yuuri's friendship.

"Just… go. Please."

A heavy silence settled in the chamber—and Sara couldn't even bear it. He bowed once again, muttering a quick "I'm sorry for intruding, Yuuri-Heika. Please excuse me," and turned around. Now, not wanting to hear the pain in Yuuri's voice anymore than he had to, he strode towards the door, turning the handle in his hand.

"It was entirely my fault."

He froze—at the raw pain and exhaustion in Yuuri's voice more than at the statement itself. Still, he didn't dare to turn and look. So, instead, he turned the handle until the door was open; and Yuuri's voice came again.

"I was the one… who couldn't tell him…" Frustration was evident in the voice, and Sara thought he heard Yuuri hold back a painful sob that threatened to wrench away from his throat. "You—you were the trigger. Even so—it's just... much easier to place blame—"

"I understand." His voice shook a little when he cut the young maou off, not wanting to hear the rest. "Thank you for your hospitality, Yuuri-Heika."

Slipping out of the door and closing it behind him, Sara gave a small smile to the two guards standing at the sides of the door before resuming his steps back to the library. He'd tell his party to get ready and leave before sundown—maybe visit Wolfram's grave for the last time before they set sail. Pausing, the young blond king leaned on the wall, mindful of the maids who rushed off quickly at his sight, pretending not to see anything. A wry smile curled up on his lips, and he sighed.

"Really. If I didn't know you better, I would think that you're cursing me from beyond the grave, Wolfram."

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

It took Cecilie three days before she stormed into the Maou's Office.

Incidentally, he was there—the kingdom's duties could not wait much longer. There were many things to settle after the death of the Consort, and Yuuri knew Wolfram wouldn't like it if he ran away from his duties using the death of his husband as an excuse. After all, Wolfram only wanted him to be a good king. So, he went through the motions of reading and signing, trying not to think that he'd come back to an empty chamber at the end of the day—a chamber with Beautiful Wolframs scattered literally everywhere. Gwendal was in the room, too, talking to Günter about Wolfram's troops; and Yuuri found himself wondering with anger: how could they talk so normally like that when Wolfram's not here anymore?

Then, the door swung open, and Cecilie strode in—her steps calm and measured, her expression dignified and looking every inch like the maou that she had been, putting Yuuri's own regal aura to shame. She stepped right in, sweeping the whole room with a searching gaze, and finally settled her sharp green eyes on Gwendal.

"He isn't dead. Is he?"

Yuuri nearly flinched at the icy tone lacing the former maou's voice.

"Mother…" Conrad began, starting to move towards his mother, but Cecilie quickly turned her icy stare at her second son. Conrad backpedaled—unsure of what he should do. Glancing at Gwendal to exchange a helpless look, he sighed softly.

"Tell me the truth, Gwendal. Conrad. He isn't dead. Wolfram isn't—"

"He's dead, Mother." Gwendal's stoic voice cut her off—Yuuri froze at that; the words piercing him just as hard as the fact and Gwendal's tone did—and Cecilie trailed off. He raised his eyes, catching Günter's solemn ones, then Conrad's painful orbs, to Gwendal's hard look, and lastly, Cecilie's emerald eyes—previously determined, but now turning into a horror look.

"No," she whispered, face turning pale as her hands rose up to grasp her hair like a fearful child. "He's happy. He can't be dead. He told me he was happy—he couldn't have—couldn't have—"

Her voice broke in the end, and a sob escaped off her lips. Something in Yuuri's chest twisted at the sight, and he had to force himself to look down because seeing the normally cheerful Cecilie like this was too painful. And because the denial—the anger, the regrets—things that haunted him every single night since that fateful night; was agonizingly familiar, too.

"He's not dead—he isn't! You're lying to me, Gwendal, I know you are! How could you? How could you… lie to me…"

From the corner of his eyes, Yuuri saw Conrad leave his side, approaching his mother with a blank look on his face. Cecilie had crumpled onto her knees now, repeating the accusations again and again, voice broken by hard wails and hiccups. Her second son knelt next to her, drawing her into a protective cocoon of arms.

"Mother…"

"He wouldn't leave me like this, Wolfram wouldn't… my Wolfie—give me back my Wolfie—my son—don't take him away, give him back to me, Conrad—give him back…"

"Mother," Conrad said again, keeping his voice toneless; and Yuuri clenched his hands. "Mother. Wolfram's gone."

"He's not! Wolfie wouldn't leave me like this—he couldn't have! You're lying!" Her voice rose to a shrill pitch, but Yuuri could hear the plea underlining her words; a plea that he himself had whispered every night that followed the funeral; when he had to face that his blond knight was truly gone, gone and never coming back: _come back, come back, give him back to me, Gods, you can't take him away—_

"Celi-sama." He croaked out in a painful tone, but loud enough to make the sobbing ex-maou look up at him. Their eyes met, and Yuuri's heart fell, because those green eyes—so very identical to the ones he had loved beyond reason—were looking at him hopefully, as if he could bring back everything that was lost.

"Celi-sama," he repeated, feeling tongue-tied and heavy, because he didn't want to say it. Saying the truth would mean that he accepted everything that had happened, admitted that everything was real and not a dream in which he just couldn't wake up. And he didn't know if he could deal with that. "Wolfram..."

He couldn't.

It wasn't until he tasted something salty on the corner of his mouth that he realized he was crying.

"Wolfram's…gone…"

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

A/N: I seriously hate writer's block. Yeah, so this chapter is basically an interlude. The main plot would start by the next chapter, so please be patient with me? –laughs- I know some of you might be confused, but I promise it'll all be explained eventually.

As usual, reviews and constructive criticisms are very much welcomed. Flames is going to be ignored, of course. Thank you for reading this far!


	5. The Wolf and Raven

Title: Hymne of Two Souls.

Author: isumi'kivic'

Beta: sinamour

Pairings: YuuriWolfram, mentions of Shinou/Murata in this chapter.

Warnings and Disclaimer: See previous chapter. =D

A/N: sjakdhsajhd I can't believe I only wrote two one-shots and an update for this semester's holiday—which was a month.

That aside, um. Here's an update, everyone. I'm working on the next chapter of Pride and Prejudice as well, but the next chapter is so damn difficult. –headdesks- I've started the chapter over for, like, five or six time, and it's still getting nowhere. I also had a huge one-shot in writing that I stopped working on two weeks ago because I felt like losing my grasp on Yuuri and Wolfram's characters, so I decided to extract some scenes out of it and weave them into a completely new one-shot. My PC broke down last week, and my laptop's in the same condition. I actually borrowed my Dad's to finish this chapter up.

And boy—let me warn you, this chapter is almost twice longer than the usual. I usually wrote about nine to ten pages a chapter, but this one exploded into almost twenty. While the pace of the previous chapters should seem fast, from now on it's getting slower. The real plot starts in this chapter. =D I don't intend to make this fic too long, but even though I already noted down the full plot and all, I still can't estimate how any chapters they'll be. Please bear with me till the end? This fic is such my baby, I'll be so glad if you'd stick to the end and see what it'll turn to in the end. –hearts-

Thank you for the wonderful reviewers—thank you for the con-crits, I really appreciate it! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy reading what you all thought about my baby, so please review this chapter too? 8D

Uh-huh, I'm shutting up. xDDD Enjoy!

_A Kyou Kara Ma-Ou! Fanfiction_

**Hymne of Two Souls**

_Chapter Five: Wolf and Raven_

"This'll be your first time going with the caravan—are you all set?"

"Yes, Mother."

"I wish you don't have to go—theYoung Mistress should already be fine with the guards coming along, but since you've been appointed as her personal guard…"

"It will be fine, Mother," a soft smile curved up his androgynous physiognomy, lighting up a pair of emerald eyes as their owner regarded the middle-aged woman standing before him. "Besides, you're coming too. I can still see you everyday, so there's no need to worry."

The middle-aged woman— looked up at him with a gentle smile. "A mother would never stop worrying, my dear. I do hope you'll have a wonderful time riding next to the Young Mistress, though."

Long, silky, honey-colored hair tied up high into a ponytail swung from side to side, as the owner of said hair shook his head and laughed—a faint shade of pink spreading fast on his cheeks. "Mother, you know it isn't like that." His expression turned serious then, but the small smile etched on his lips didn't vanish. "I do not have any interest in that kind of thing. The only thing I want would be for you—for us to live happily."

A bony hand rose up to rest on his cheek; his heart gave a small twinge at how it trembled as a pair of tired sapphire eyes gazed into his emerald ones. His eyes descended down to take his mother's appearance. She was only about five centimeters shorter than him, with wavy, shoulder-length honey-colored hair identical to his crowning a sharp, feminine face. For him, she was beautiful, even with a body much thinner and a tired-looking face.

A pat on his cheek, and he started. There was reassurance on that soft smile of his mother, telling him that just now he must have been wearing a sad expression. "I am already happy whenever I see you. It's enough for me, Seff."

His smile widened a little. "Thank you, Mother."

The healthy gray steed behind him nudged his shoulder gently, reminding him of the time. The Young Mistress was expecting him before they took off for the journey, and he wouldn't want to be late. Needless to say, his Mother would also be busy once he left, preparing for the six-month journey the caravan was about to embark on. Living only with his Mother as servants of the Young Mistress meant that they didn't have to spend time apart too much, and he was glad for that. At least he wouldn't have to worry about her, and likewise, she wouldn't need to worry about him either.

"I'm going then. See you at the castle later, Mother."

With a grace rarely seen for a mere small town guard, Seff mounted his steed, comfortably setting himself on the gray horse, and urged him to trot slowly. His Mother followed as he passed the gate, and he gave a last reassuring smile before letting the gray steed rush forward to the mansion.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

The autumn wind breezed past him, playing with his now shoulder-length jet-black hair. A pair of onyx eyes was now hidden under their lids, eyebrows slightly taut, the corners of his mouth drawn into a tight line—a longing expression etched onto a handsome face. A slightly sweet smell hung in the air; a bouquet of big yellow flowers rested before a tombstone as fingertips delicately touched flower petals, gently moving, following their contours. Eyelids fluttering open, Yuuri gazed at the tombstone solemnly, pain visibly shimmering in his eyes.

"Hi, Wolf."

For several minutes, Yuuri let the painful regrets and sadness crash into him, swirling with the ever-present longing and endless yearning, drowning him until his chest tightened with unspoken emotions. His eyes stung, and he chuckled dryly at the feeling.

How long had it been since he last cried?

He might not have enough tears left for the rest of his life.

Five meters away from the kneeling figure of the Maou, Conrad stood by Greta's side. The fourteen-year-old Princess was dressed in white from head to toe, her head hung down as her now-longer hair fell into a curtain, shielding her face from the world. One might think she was crying, but Conrad knew better. None of them had any tears left—they have simply exhausted themselves after crying so much in vain. Nothing would bring the dead back—not a prayer, not a wish, not anger, and definitely no amount of tears would.

"It's been two years, Conrad."

Over the years, Greta's high-pitched voice had started to smooth into a gentle soprano, making her sound older than she actually was. Sometimes Conrad had difficulties remembering that the girl standing next to him was only fourteen, what with how Greta brought herself to act since Wolfram's death. Gone was the girl who ran after Gwendal, excitedly asking about the dolls he was about to teach her to make. Gone was the girl who turned to Conrad and Anissina for every single problem little girls had, who beamed up childishly when she got to eat desserts even before dinner time arrived.

Instead, standing next to him was a young girl fully aware of her status as a Princess, maturing far beyond anyone's expectation.

It was the girl who had politely declined a ball invitation in preference of accompanying his Father in a visit to the remotest part of their Kingdom; who had started to regularly appear in the weekly meetings, staying by Yuuri's side and watching everything with thoughtful, learning eyes. The girl who had been spending more and more of her time in the library instead of the garden like she used to do, reading complicated books regarding state affairs and history and, sometimes, magic, instead of Anissina's fairytales that she once fancied. Sometimes, even at the Alliance meetings she'd also begun to attend, Yuuri had to keep her hand in his in order to reassure her that no, even though sometimes the tension was rising, everything was going to be just fine.

It was as if she was trying to act mature in order to fill the hole Wolfram had left—in order to be a semblance of pillar of strength that Yuuri needed so badly.

"You're still not going to tell me what exactly happened?"

She tries too hard, sometimes. Conrad had seen her breaking down once—quietly crying in the library as she clutched the storybook she used to ask Wolfram to read to her so many times before. No matter how mature she tried to act—no matter how hard she tried to put on the adult mask, she was still only a young teenager. It cracked too, occasionally,at the sight of Wolfram's favorite dishes, sometimes, even at something as simple as the blossoming Beautiful Wolframs in the garden.

"There isn't anything that—"

"I know it when you're lying."

It was a lie, Conrad knew. A convincing one, perhaps, if said to people who had just met her, but he'd been watching Greta for far too long. There was just enough childish hesitance in her tone, signaling that she wasn't at all sure about her own statement. Yuuri would point it out to her straightaway, being the simple-minded person that he was, but Conrad knew that there was no use. It wasn't like Greta would stop trying.

"Wolfram is far too proud to kill himself. Killing himself to protect Yuuri wasn't what he would have thought. If anything, Wolfram would wait for the sentence—he might even demand to be imprisoned all his life or—or death…" the girl's voice trailed off, the last syllables of her words came out shaky. "...and he'd face it bravely. That's the kind of person Wolfram is. He'd face it, rather than kill himself."

"He didn't," Conrad replied, tone impassive. "I killed him."

"Stop blaming yourself for something you didn't do, Conrad."

It surprised him sometimes, how much Greta took after Yuuri and Wolfram's traits. The firm tone she used just now sounded so much like the one Wolfram used whenever he was about to defend something most important to him, but the understanding words were ones of Yuuri's. It gave him the slightest taste of happiness at times—realizing that despite having no blood-ties at all, Greta really was Yuuri and Wolfram's daughter.

"Wolfram was happy," Greta said, as if telling herself a story she'd remembered after reciting it too many times. "He was happy; there's no way he'd have killed himself. He'd fight for our happiness—he told me that. That's why, you—no, everyone…Gwendal and Anissina and even Günter, too—you guys are lying."

Again, there was that slight fear and hesitant tone lacing her voice, telling Conrad that she was only guessing and knew nothing. He let out a dry, bitter laugh then, shaking his head somewhat tiredly. "But it is the truth. You're right, Wolfram didn't kill himself. I did."

A pair of warm, brown eyes regarded him sadly. "Conrad…"

"It's almost dinner time," Conrad said simply. "Let us go back."

For a second, Greta looked like she was about to counter him—perhaps snap at him—but then she returned her gaze towards her father figure. Her brown eyes softened, and then she moved across the distance separating them and the Maou, white dress flowing gracefully as the autumn breeze naughtily blew. Conrad watched as she put a hand on Yuuri's shoulder, noted how Yuuri's back stiffened after several moments, as if he'd just realized he wasn't alone—as if he hadn't been kneeling before a tombstone and had been somewhere else entirely (where Wolfram was—Conrad knew that it was Yuuri's wish, and it was always painful whenever he noted it).

It took almost ten minutes for Yuuri to completely return to reality, and it took him another five minutes before he finally turned around and caught Conrad's gaze. The older man's heart clenched as Yuuri offered him a small smile, looking up with gratitude as he walked towards him. "Thank you for today, Conrad. Greta, too."

"I wanted to come," Greta said, quickly. "I'd always want to come."

Conrad let a small smile of his own curve his lips. "There's no need to, Heika."

"It's Yuuri," the Maou countered absently as he threw his gaze towards the horizon—the sun seemed to be inches away from touching the line, spreading layers and layers of orange and red upon the blue canvas that was sky. "It's almost sundown. Let's go back."

The three of them walked down the path from the hill towards the castle—Greta's hand clasped in Yuuri's as Conrad followed them three steps behind. Her knee-length white dress waved innocently as she followed her adoptive Father's steps, and Conrad absently tried to remember when Greta stopped wearing anything that wasn't white.

Both Father and daughter had never stopped grieving.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

"Have you ever been to Shin Makoku, Seff?"

The Young Mistress was not pretty, and yet she managed to capture every man's eyes as she passed. Silky, midnight-blue tresses that fell on her shoulders gracefully; under the sun, her hair looked lighter in color, almost gleaming. Her slim body sat upright firmly atop her white steed, and gentle dark-grey eyes looked straight ahead with enthusiasm, slightly-tanned skin hiding under white riding clothes. There was just something about the gentle aura enveloping her that made people stop and turn to really look at her—something about the playful, happy smiles that often played on her face, about the confident tone in her voice, about the soft, thoughtful dark-gray eyes—something about all her gestures that plainly spelled out to people that she was not someone they would want to mess with.

Her name was Hilde.

"No, Young Mistress," he answered dutifully, even though a soft smile was playing on his lips. "Even if I had been, I probably just don't remember."

She made a soft noise. "Ah, true. How foolish of me. I'm sorry, Seff."

He urged his steed to slow down a little, as to not going before Hilde's horse. There were two older guards riding before them, and five others behind them before the rest of the caravan followed—his place was by the Hilde's side. His chanced a glance behind, peering at the long trail of carts and horses, and not for the first time marveled at how long their caravan was. Hilde had managed beyond well in this family business that she had only just inherited six months previouslygaining not only a fair amount of money, but also the trust and hearts of many people—including her guards, servants, and the merchants who had joined her caravan.

"If there's no trouble waiting for us ahead, we'll arrive at Shin Makoku in two days," Hilde continued, her smile widened enthusiastically. "I've only been there once, about four years ago. It was unfortunate that Father decided not to bring me to the Maou, but now I'll be replacing Father to meet the Maou. I'm really looking forward to it."

"Is he that great of a King?" Seff restrained the urge to scoff. "From what I've heard, he's quite weak-hearted. He never gives the death sentence to any criminals regardless of their wrong-doings, and some say he's not even a good swordsman. A magical sword wouldn't be of much help if you don't have what it takes to use it. It's a good thing that we're humans. At least he's not our King."

"He encourages peace, he hates war. It doesn't mean that he's a coward, Seff. I don't understand why men always see violence as something to measure bravery or strength with. It is ridiculous."

"I would question that reason, Young Mistress. Who knows, maybe he's simply a wimp." He paused, frowning as a sense of déjà vu suddenly rushed at him. Dismissing it with a shake of head, he wondered why the last word came out so easily.

"You're just saying that because you're a male," the girl let out a small, concealed scoff; and Seff choked in laughter. "That being said, it is not definite that the Maou would be willing to meet me. As kind-hearted as he is said to be, if he hasn't the time to meet me and discuss the price—well, I suppose I'll meet his subordinate instead."

Absently wondering how his Mother was doing in one of those carts filled with servants, Seff turned his attention back to the road, letting his eyes roam the woods on their sides before throwing his gaze to the darkening sky. The night would fall soon enough, and by the looks of it, they wouldn't manage to get to the closest village before nightfall. Tucking a stray brown strand of hair behind his ear, he turned to the other guards riding behind him, gesturing to their leader. "It seems we have no choice but to camp out tonight."

"It'd be fine. We need to find a clearing big enough for the whole caravan to stop, and also close enough to the water," the leader responded, looking thoughtful before instructing two men to ride on ahead and find a place for them to stop.

"Where is my brother?" Hilde inquired as soon as she heard the word 'stop', turning her head towards the caravan. "Is he doing alright?"

"The Young Master would be with my Mother, so have no worries," Seff replied easily. "I will take him to you once we find a place to rest for tonight."

By the time they reached the clearing, the sun was already half-hidden behind the horizon. Once the sounds of carts and hooves stopped, the place was immediately abuzz with a number of activities. The merchants made sure their horses and carts safe enough, the women started to prepare supper, the guards split into two groups—half of them taking care of the horses and the rest heading out to give the area a sweep, ensuring their safety. A bonfire was lit, small tents were built, warmth and laughter drifted in the air as everyone gathered, waiting for supper to be cooked.

"Seff, your Mother's looking for you," another guard tapped his shoulder, gesturing to the tent closest to the bonfire. "She's still cooking, so she asked me to call you."

"Ah, thank you. Did you see the Young Master?"

"He's trying to steal some dessert, I suppose. I'll see you later—the leader's looking for me."

His Mother was indeed at the very back of the tent, washing what looked like tons of vegetables. She looked up at him happily when he approached, a bony hand caressing his cheek for a moment before getting back to what she was doing. "How was today, Seff?"

"Young Mistress is an interesting person to talk to, as usual. It's not what you think, Mother," he added hastily as his Mother's smile turned into a knowing one. "I don't think of Young Mistress like that."

"She seems to be interested in you, my dear. After all, she asked specifically for you to be her personal guard."

"It's because we're good acquaintance, and she knows I'm one of the best guards," he tucked his bangs behind his ears again, not a bit of arrogance in his tone, only confidence. "If you'd heard her talking about the Maou, you'll know she's more interested in him."

"Don't be jealous of the King, Seff."

"Mother!"

His Mother chuckled. "Please go get Young Master Engel before he steals too many sweets for dessert."

Sure enough, when he took a glance towards the baskets of cookies and sweets at the corner of the tent, there was a small figure squatting on the ground, one hand grabbing something from the basket, and the other holding an apple. Shaking his head, Seff bent down to place a gentle kiss on his Mother's cheek before standing up and striding straight over towards the child. He saw the small back stiffen before he got there, and opted to block the boy's escape rather than make a grab for the figure. The figure whirled around hastily, and ran forward without looking where he was going, slamming right into Seff's chest.

"What the hell—Seff?"

"The one and only," Seff said dryly. "If theYoung Mistress heard you saying that—"

"What, she's the one who taught me that." A pout and a huff, and for some reason, Seff was overcome with a sense of familiarity. He shook it off though, grabbing the twelve-year-old boy's hand, forcing him to put the cookies back into the basket. The action rewarded him a full scowl. "Seff, I'm not a child! I can eat dessert whenever I want, I'm a man!"

Seff could literally feel a vein in his forehead pop. He decided to just drag the younger male out of the tent, waving away several inquiring servants about whether they should bring the Young Mistress and Young Master's dinner to their tent or not. The boy struggled with all his might at first, but after some time, it was apparent that he wouldn't be able to escape. So he simply stopped, irritated. "Where's my sister?"

"Planning tomorrow's route. I'm taking you to her, so stop trying to strangle yourself."

"You're annoying."

"So are you," Seff sniped back, shaking his head when Engel's mouth fell open in disbelief. Ahead, he could see Hilde sitting on the grass with several higher-ranked guards, a map laid out before her. She looked up as he and Engel approached, a wide smile on her face. "Is everything alright?"

Engel settled down next to his sister, tossing his midnight-blue hair back. "Seff's being a jerk."

Seff twitched, willing himself not to strangle the boy. "You were _stealing_ cookies."

"Yeah, well—you guys don't eat that many cookies anymore. It's for _kids_—which you always referred to me as."

"Says someone who was boasting off about being a man not a minute ago," Seff huffed as Engel spluttered, cheeks reddening. "Huh, you're still such a wimp, Young Master."

"I'm not! I'll show you—I'll kick your ass once I can have my own sword, just you see!"

Seff snickered, "Beat your own teacher? That'd be a hundred years too early."

"The he—"

"Alright, alright, let's stop there," Hilde clamped a hand on her younger brother's mouth, laughing in mirth. "We're in the middle of something important here, so Engel, stop bothering Seff. You, too, Seff, stop teasing him."

A chorus of "I was not!" rang, sending Hilde into another round of laughter.

Seff leaned back onto the cart, watching Engel grumpily pay attention to his sister. The young man pursed his lips then, wondering at the familiarity that would wash him lately whenever he bickered with either Hilde or Engel. It was as if something at the edge of his consciousness was tickling him, urging him to try and remember more about the past that he has no memory of. Moreover, there was the sense of déjà vu as they rode into the woods—a feeling that grew stronger the further they went. It was as if he'd passed this road so often before— like he'd once memorized the path, the trees, the river. It bothered him.

Closing his eyes, he reminded himself not to worry. He wasn't a stranger, his Mother had said. He was one of them, despite the fact that two years ago he was found unconscious in the mansion's stable, with no memories intact.

There was a reason he was here, Hilde said once. And for that, Seff would protect her from anything.

Absolutely anything.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

"_You know, it's a bit scary for me."_

_The morning sun was warm in contrast to the cold grass under his feet and to the chilly winter morning wind breezing past them. It never snowed in Shin Makoku, but it didn't make it less cold. He shivered a bit, unconsciously pressing closer to the figure next to him in search of more warmth. A strong arm wound up around his shoulder, pulling him close—the edge of the pink nightgown tickled his knees through his own blue pajamas, and he thought he could hear the smirk curving his friend's lips. It didn't matter though, because now the cold wind couldn't touch him. Everything was warm—with the exception of the frozen grass under his bare feet._

"_You're really a wimp, Yuuri." The words came all too readily—he'd half-expected it, to be honest. Thumping a fist gently on his friend's chest, Yuuri scowled. "Not a wimp. I'll have you know that my Dad was scared too back then, and it's utterly, perfectly normal!"  
_

_A humph. "Maybe it runs in the family." There was too much of a teasing tone for it to be truly an insult, but nonetheless, Yuuri elbowed him, a bit harder this time, enough to draw a surprised and somewhat pained gasp out of those pliant lips, before wriggling out of his friend's arms. He smirked. "Serves you right."_

_The cold attacked him again, a bit more vicious this time, and he shivered. Wrapping his arms around his own body in attempt to keep some warmth, he decided to move around. After all, that's the basic logic. Moving made you warm. Flinging his arms just like when he was on one of his morning jog session, he enjoyed the sounds of popping muscles. Out on the east, the sun was rising a bit higher, casting its golden rays upon the hills he was standing on, bathing him in warmth and light. He turned around, grinning widely to beckon the other boy to come forward, and felt his breath catch in his throat._

_Engulfed in the golden rays, Wolfram stood—emerald eyes now closed and the smirk morphed into a contented smile, golden hair and porcelain skin gleaming under the sunrays—and Yuuri was reminded of what he had thought of the first time he saw Wolfram. Truly, under the golden light, standing proud and tall, looking so ethereal—Yuuri half expected to see a pair of huge wings sprouting off the blond's back._

_An angel._

"_It's scary for me, too." Five steps, and the distance between them was closed—warm breath falling on his face, and his cheeks burnt. "We _are_ still young. I mean, it _does_ feel too soon to get married."_

"_Then you're a wimp, too." He managed to counter, drawing a soft chuckle from the other, and his own lips widened in a giddy grin._

"_But we'll manage, right?" This time, the voice sounded a bit hesitant, "We won't screw up with this, right? We'll make a family—right, Yuuri?"_

_His cold hand reached out to clasp a much warmer hand, and he moved to close the gap between their lips._

"_We _will_."_

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

Someone was calling his name. Over and over. It sounded so far, like it was being carried by the wind from a thousand miles away. And then suddenly, it grew louder, firm and very real, piercing his ears.

"You're crying."

His eyes flew open, a shadow hovering on his right side, and for a second, he expected Wofram's sleepy face to greet him. But something was running down his cheeks, down to the corner of his lips, and it tasted salty. Tears—again. And his hands were still clutching a familiar silk fabric close to his heart. A pink nightgown.

Which meant he was back to reality, and Wolfram was very much dead.

Greta's face came into view after he blinked several times, letting some more tears rolled down his cheeks. His daughter—dressed in a white nightgown and looking very much like she had just woken up—reached out to wipe them with a finger that wasn't quite as small as it used to be, a tiny frown marring her beautiful face.

"I am." Yuuri rustled, sitting up slowly. He offered a smile at her worried face. "I'm fine, Greta. What time is it?"

"It's still early. Anissina woke me up, telling me to go and wake you up because Günter caught a cold." Greta looked up, sleepily rubbing her eyes and yawning a little. "Good morning, Yuuri."

"Good morning, Greta," he replied, a hand mussing up his daughter's already messy brown curls, enjoying its solid feel under his fingers. It reminded him of Wolfram's curls in the morning, when they would wake up well before dawn and sleepily stared at each other, absently playing with whatever parts of the body they had their hands on. He paused then, and the smile gradually faded off into a blank expression, gaze turning empty as he stared at nothing in particular until Greta took his hand in hers.

"Yuuri."

Like a lifeline, Yuri grasped the hand. "I dreamt," he said slowly, softly. "He was with me. Before we got married, when we sneaked out of the castle before dawn to watch the sunrise on the hill behind the castle. I—he was—" he choked on nothing, and felt Greta's arms wound around his middle, her head crashing onto his chest. He hugged her back, as tight as he could, squeezing his eyes shut to quell the pain and longing that welled up in his chest and threatened to drown him in its current. He heard a dry sob and wondered whether it was his own or Greta's.

"Was he happy?" Greta murmured in a small, pained voice, "In your dream?"

He made an affirmative sound, and felt Greta nodded.

"Please don't cry, Yuuri."

"I miss him," h e choked out hoarsely, feeling like his voice was failing him. Maybe it was. "I really, really miss him."

"I do, too, Yuuri."

He buried his face into his daughter's brown curls, wanting to pretend that they were Wolfram's, but knew that he couldn't. His eyes stung and it hurt, but the pounding in his chest felt way more painful. His lips moved, forming the name of his late Consort, breathing it out, as if calling someone's name in a prayer. Wolfram, Wolfram, Wolfram. Beloved Wolfram.

They stayed that way for what felt like forever, until there were sounds of someone knocking on the door. Reluctantly, Yuuri let go of his daughter, feeling the comfort slip away off his hands and clutched Wolfram's nightgown tighter in attempt to get it back. Greta moved down the bed and got up, half-running towards the door and pulling it open to reveal Conrad's figure standing before her.

"Good morning, Hime-sama." A smile—Conrad's trademark one. The one that never meant anything. The empty one.

"Good morning," she hesitated, turning towards Yuuri. "Are you going jogging this morning, Yuuri?"

Silence, but Yuuri's murmur seemed to echo in the chamber then. "I'll skip today."

"Then I suppose I'll see you both at breakfast," the smile never faltered, and for once, Yuuri wanted to punch Conrad—ask him to stop smiling and act like he was over it; to scream and cry off the pain reflected in his eyes whenever he saw him. Too much. The castle was full of Wolfram's memories—everything was about Wolfram: the chamber, the dining room, the bath, the library, the yards, the garden, the stables, the gates, the kitchen, everything—and Yuuri wasn't blind. He wasn't stupid. None of them had ever stopped grieving.

They just pretended to.

"Oh, and Heika, Günter had me relay a message to you. An owner of a caravan requested for an audience with you two days from now, and, if possible, to stay within the castle grounds. They wanted to discuss the decreasing prices for their goods." A pause, and then Conrad added, "They're from the human village on the borders."

Yuuri nodded. "It's fine. I'll see them. And they're welcomed to stay in the castle for as long as they want to."

"Understood. I will tell Gwendal, then. If you'd excuse me."

The door was closed again, leaving Greta to listen to Conrad's steps growing further and further. She turned at the rustling sound from the bed, staring at Yuuri who rose to his feet, still clutching Wolfram's nightgown, and moved towards the window. There was a vase of Beautiful Wolram on the table next to the window, and Greta watched as nimble fingers traced it petals softly.

She averted her eyes, and decided to say nothing.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

"It's time."

Murata let his eyes moved sideways, towards the blond, half-transparent figure that sat down on one of the ancient boxes. Said figure had his head tilted upwards, looking thoughtfully at the high ceilings as if it held the answer to all of life's mysteries. He waited, knowing that the Original King would soon elaborate on his statement, but it was Ulrike who raised her voice in a curious tone. "What is it, Shinou-Heika?"

Silence reigned in the chamber for several moments, almost deafening in its loudness, but Murata chose to keep his mouth shut. Shinou was obviously stalling, and Murata had no desire to fall into the ridiculously childish game of 'I-won't-tell-if-my-Sage-don't-ask-me' that Shinou seemed to like lately. He'd always been a tease, that particular blond King, and while Murata hated to give in—only to Shinou, mind you—he was not in a particularly good mood to deal with Shinou's antics. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a choice. And so he relented, sighing in annoyance before asking in a bored voice, "Is it him?"

A slow, lazy smirk formed its way onto Shinou's face. "It seems Fate has pulled him back sooner than predicted."

Murata sighed in exasperation. "You could have interfered," he deadpanned. "This is three years sooner than what it's supposed to be. It's not good, isn't it?"

"Who am I to defy Fate's will?" Shinou chuckled, and Murata wanted to throw something at him. Of all the existence out there, Shinou had no right to be talking about fate. "Besides, my Daikenja, don't you think maybe this is a sign?"

Murata blinked. "A sign… huh…" he murmured thoughtfully. "Well, he's proven how stubborn he is. Maybe he'd be the first one to tame it and still be himself," he paused, a small smile playing on his lips. "Maybe he'd be the first to remember."

Shinou's gentle, amused laughter rang inside the chamber, echoing along the corners of the ceiling. "My descendant," he said, confidence lacing his voice, "is the strongest Mazoku I've ever seen. In many ways."

"You don't get to say that," Murata said dryly, before shrugging and smiling down at the High Priestess. "Now, I'd better do my part. My place is by Shibuya's side, after all."

He could feel Shinou's sharp, calculating gaze burning his back, and hid an amused smile as he slipped out of the chamber. The huge door closed with a gentle thud behind him. Taking a breath, he shook his head, half from amusement and half from exasperation.

"Ah, well. I wonder how Shibuya's doing today?"

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

The sound of the door to Yuuri's office slamming shut and hurried footsteps weren't enough to draw his attention away from the paperwork before him; it was probably Günter bringing more paperwork anyway, he thought wearily as his hand went through the automatic motion of signing the documents. Beneath his windows, he could hear excitement escalating—sounds of soldiers running and firm shouts of orders which he recognized as Gisela's voice, overlapping the high-pitched wonderings of the maids. Then, another stack of paper was put on the other side of his desk, joining those that he hadn't finished yet. Muttering a small "thanks, Günter," to his advisor absently, he peered up, and noted with a small smile that the purple-haired man seemed considerably healthy enough to be up and about. With Günter's enthusiasm, he could barely believe that two days ago, the very same man had collapsed under a severe cold.

"The caravan seemed to have arrived, Heika," Günter informed, gesturing towards the window. "They'll be setting their stalls and begin holding the festival this afternoon. It seems that everyone is excited."

"It's nice," Yuuri commented, straightening his back. His mind flew off towards his daughter—who was, doubtlessly, cooping herself in the library, reading—and wondered if he would have the time to bring Greta out to see the festival.

From his experience several years ago, when the last time the very same caravan had come to Shin Makoku, the merchants usually set up their stalls at the city square and use their own street performance to attract people. They all traveled together under the leadership of a rich merchant that went by the name Sieg—"It is safer for the merchants to travel together, form their own structure and defenses against the bandits," Gwendal had once explained—and because of their huge number, it was no wonder that whenever they came to Shin Makoku, the city square turned into a festival ground all of a sudden.

Yuuri remembered his meeting with Sieg—a tall, bulky man with a fatherly smile and kind stormy gray eyes—to discuss the standard prices for their products and exchange the specialties of Shin Makoku with their own. He had an aura that reminded Yuuri of his own father. The news of Sieg's passing just five months ago had been a surprise; if it weren't for his own grief that he hadn't yet been able to deal with, Yuuri was sure he would have come to attend the man's funeral. As it was, he only sent a representative instead of forming his own party—even though it meant he could have run away from his duty as the Maou for several days. Later, he'd heard that Sieg's daughter had taken over his position as the caravan leader.

"You're not going down to see the festival, Shibuya?"

Yuuri started, too caught up in remembering the things about the caravan to notice that his best friend had slipped into his office. Again. "You've been coming here a lot since two days ago, Murata."

"As a Daikenja, it's my duty to offer my advice when the Maou is in need," Murata said lightly, clapping his hands behind his back. He grinned. "That aside, look at all the excitement in town. Aren't you going out to see? I'll even go with you!"

Yuuri shrugged, looking warily at the stacks he hadn't finished, and compared them to the ones that he had. It was only slightly shorter than the stacks he'd finished. "I don't know—I think Gwendal wants me to finish up today just in case…"

"Nonsense!" Günter exclaimed dramatically, "Yuuri-Heika has been in the office all morning—surely a brief rest wouldn't hurt anybody! Gwendal and I can handle the rest of this, Heika, please be rest assured. I am certain that Hime-sama would love to go down there with you and have a look."

"Can we, Yuuri?" a tentative, feminine voice came from the door, and Yuuri turned to see his daughter standing there, a pleading look on her eyes. "I really want to go with Yuuri, so can we? Conrad said he'll accompany us. We can buy rare flowers and bring them this evening to Wolfram's—" she stumbled at the word, and Yuuri's heart gave a tug as he noticed her trying to keep her smile intact. "I think he would like that. Can we?"

Worrying his lower lip for a second, Yuuri took a breath. He didn't want to, to be honest, if he could help it. The last time he went to the caravan's festival, he'd spent the whole day having fun with Wolfram and Greta. Going down there would mean reliving those memories, ripping open the wounds of being left that he was trying to patch up little by little. But he couldn't deny Greta a wish—not when everyone was trying to cheer him up so hard, not when Greta had been trying so hard to be a semblance of pillar Yuuri could lean on, even if only for a while.

"Alright," he agreed, letting the corner of his lips curl up into a tiny smile. "Let's go, then."

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

To Yuuri's amazement and amusement, the city square was already buzzing with excitement, full of expectant crowd, even though the festival hadn't even started yet. The stalls were currently being set up; countless humans clothed in foreign style hurried back and forth from one stall to another. As requested by the caravan leader's mail several days ago, Yuuri had granted all of them permission to stay in the castle ground after they closed up the festival. Some of the street performers—jugglers, magicians, stuntmen, swordmen—were practicing on one side, drawing their own big crowds as they showed off their simple tricks before the real show started.

As Greta enthusiastically pulled both he and Murata towards one of the magicians, Yuuri carefully adjusted the brown wig on top of his head to make sure it wouldn't fall off as his gaze roamed around the city square. He hadn't come down here to enjoy himself for years, and it felt weird to walk on the same ground he used to walk together with Greta and Wolfram. The city square hadn't changed—he disapproved a request from the townfolks to change its style months ago, for his own selfish reason: he wanted to let everything remain unchanged—for everything to be a memento of an existence he loved.

The fountain stayed the same, still the same gleaming marble-stone under the gentle sunray. There were two or three new stores around the huge square, and a tree had been cut down after it was struck by the lightning and fell onto a small shop next to it, blocking the way. Other than that, it stayed perfectly the same. As his onyx orbs trailed around, he could actually catch bits and pieces of old memories assaulting him—

"_It's called parenthood," Wolfram had huffed indignantly as Yuuri grinned sheepishly at Conrad who seemed to be gladly amused at their decision to buy a mini-Bear Bee for their daughter. The fountain laughed behind them, its silvery water tinkling with fondness as the family-wannabe sat down on its edge._

It hurts, a little. No, that was a lie—it still hurts a lot. To walk here without the presence of someone who used to be by his side constantly, whose presence he'd come to cherish more than anybody's. If he concentrated enough, he could hear the wind breeze past, bringing along a gentle laughter he remembered so well, like he was still here, as if he were just behind him, listening to him as he talked about trivial things and retorting back sometimes—

"_We're having a festival too today—before I came back here, I mean," Yuuri said lightly as they strolled around the square."It's called the Tanabata Festival; you make wishes and hang them on the bamboo stems. Originally, it's to celebrate the only time of the year when Princess Orihime could meet her lover. Oh, that—__"__he pointed out on a group of tall, slender stems sprouting out just in the corner of someone's front yard. "Those actually look like bamboos! Though they're supposedly not purple in color…"_

"_They're grass," Wolfram said, a curious tone tinting his voice. "It's a cross-bred from Franchia, I think. And honestly, I don't understand why you all have to use a different kind of tree for different holidays. Isn't that a waste? Why are they different from, uhhh… chreeshmass?"_

_His lips stretched into a grin, and he took Wolfram's wrist. "Come on! Let's ask for papers and a quill—let's make a wish!"  
_

_Wolfram's face went a little red, but there was a happy undertone in his voice when he humph-ed and replied, "You do it every year, why are you getting so excited over it? And it's not even our tree—oi! You wimp, do you ever listen to me?"_

In every single step, he felt like the memory was getting real. The faint scent of sunflowers he'd long associated with his Consort greeted his nostrils. _Perhaps they have sunflowers this year_, Yuuri thought numbly, and he could almost hear a familiar voice shouting orders to the swordsmen. Somehow, his senses were high and on alert of everything that reminded him of his late husband, but numb to anything other than them. He could barely feel Greta's impatient tug on his fingers, could barely hear Murata and Conrad's idle conversation behind him, and—

"_Where's she?" Wolfram's face was pale, horrified. "She was just here—I swear she was! She was holding my hand, and the next second she's just—gone! Greta!"_

"_Wolf, calm down. We've split up with Conrad and Günter, I'm sure we'll find her in no time, alright?" His own heart was beating so hard in fear and nervousness— all he could think of was little Greta with her glass-Bear Bee-doll-Yuuram __who might be scared in the middle of the crowd, calling out to her parents in vain. What if a bad guy showed up and threatened her for money? What if someone recognized that she was the Princess and—and she was kidnapped? "I—we should stay here next to the fountain—maybe she'll find us if she wandered near the fountain. It's the easiest thing to see in this square after all—"_

"_We can't stay," Wolfram hissed, the small blaze of anger apparent in his green eyes,__and Yuuri wasn't sure whom the anger was directed to. "You stay here—Yozak's around keeping an eye on you, call him out if something happened and—I'll go look for her—" trailing off, the blond turned around and ran forth. The only thing Yuuri could do as he watched Wolfram's back disappear into the milling crowd was__ to __hesitantly call out._

"_Wolf-!"_

"—fram! It's mine, I'm not giving it back!"

Jolted from his reverie, Yuuri only had time to look up before a blur of brown and white shadow slammed into him, throwing him off balance and sending him sprawled indignantly on the square brick ground. He spluttered in shock even as his ears caught Greta's surprised yelp—someone else had bumped into her but fortunately, Murata was there to steady her back on her feet—and then he registered Conrad's careful grip on his shoulder.

"Ugh, dammit!" Brown hair, tied up into a high ponytail that swung from side to side as the owner of the head shook his head and swore in a tenor, somewhat rough voice—a voice that sounded familiar. "That little rascal—I'm really sorry. You're not hurt, aren't you?"

Yuuri's brain worked too slowly these days, and all he could think was the last syllable of an unknown name: _'—fram?'_

"Wolf…?" he looked up, subconsciously forming a dear name with his lips shakily, but it died almost instantly.

Long, brown, straight hair, skin slightly tanner than Wolfram's. That, and the fact that his husband was dead. Yuuri even still had the strand of blond hair that remained, safely tucked in a tiny pouch inside his pocket. No, not Wolfram. Wolfram wasn't coming back. He still couldn't move on—but at least he'd accepted that.

Then the stranger looked up—and their eyes locked.

Onyx eyes widened at the endless emerald color of the bright orbs staring back at him, slightly taken aback at how intense and familiar and loved are they. His breath was caught instantly, stuck in his throat as if his own lungs were trying to suffocate him—and he was lost. Lost in the borderless sea of deep green that reminded him of the deepest color of lake, lost in the fiery emotions blazing through those shining orbs, lost in the sensation of longing and relief and love—

"Looks like you're not. Sorry." The stranger shrugged, breaking the eye contact, and Yuuri heard his own sound of breath rushing out. "If you'll excuse me, I still have to catch a thief."

The stranger rose up—Yuuri automatically did, too, and was glad that Conrad's grip kept him steady on his feet. He was still staring mutely at the stranger when a high-pitched voice of an adolescent boy rang in the air, "I swear I'll throw this into the fountain if you don't give me back my bag, Seffram!"

Visibly, the stranger bristled. He pushed through Yuuri and Conrad, and stalked towards the general direction of a boy who had previously bumped into Greta and ran off. "No, Young Master, you give me back my sword, or I won't teach you for months!"

_Seffram_, Yuuri thought in disappointment. _Not Wolfram_.

Their voices faded as their figures disappear among the milling crowd. Greta seemed to be bewildered by the bizarre incident, while Murata held a wide, amused smile on his face. Yuuri blinked, as if he'd just woken up from a dream, when Conrad tapped his shoulder worriedly.

"Heika?"

"It's Yuuri," he countered absent-mindedly, "And I'm okay—I guess." But his heart was still beating rapidly—confusion, longing, hope, and disappointment all mixed up and welling up uncontrollably in his chest. "Conrad, don't you think that guy looks a lot like—"

"They have similar eyes," Conrad answered—there was an edge in his voice that Yuuri thought might be caused by the same emotions he currently felt. He nodded then, still staring blankly in the direction where the stranger had disappeared. His heart felt strangely empty after looking into the pair of eyes with emotions so fierce he was even caught in them. Just like how it used to be when he stared into Wolfram's—

-he should stop. Not now. Not when Greta was already peering at him, half curious and half worried, and tugging his hand again. He needed to calm down. And so, he tore his gaze off the crowds, and fixed them on Greta. "Shall we buy some ice cream while waiting for the performance?" he offered, forcing a small smile.

Greta nodded hesitantly. "Can I have vanilla?"

"Of course. Let's go."

The two of them started to walk—Conrad faithfully trailing behind—and Murata stared after them, glasses glinting as a faint line of smile curved up his face.

"It is quite fast, indeed," he murmured thoughtfully. "I wonder if this time this'll work…"

-o0ochapter 5 endo0o-

A/N: I told you it was long. –sighs- Ah, but at last it's out of my head, ahahahaha! I'm so satisfied. :3 I know some of you probably have a guess about who Seff is—I'm pretty sure I made it obvious. Purposefully. It'll take some time, though. :3 Anyway, a bowl of mac 'n cheese for each of you who can guess it right! xD

Thank you for reading this far, and please leave a review to let me know that you read it? =D Enthusiastic reviews are loved, constructive criticisms are much more so, and flames are Wolfram's department—I'd rather not see them. xDDD

Much thanks,

-isumi'kivic' and Ilde-


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